


The Futurist

by CharityLambkin



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, BAMF Wanda Maximoff, Bruce Banner & Tony Stark Feels, Bruce Banner & Tony Stark Friendship, Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Captivity, Fix-It of Sorts, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mind Manipulation, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Science Boyfriends, Science Bros, Steve Rogers Is a Good Bro, Tony Stark Has Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-06-09 00:11:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6881311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharityLambkin/pseuds/CharityLambkin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony sees how the world is turning, and it's not in his favor.  His friends have deserted him, his allies have betrayed him, and it seems like the only thing he has on his side is the law.  But he can deal with that, he can answer to Secretary Ross as long as he gets to keep being Iron Man.</p>
<p>And then he finds out where Bruce has been all this time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

In his head, Tony called The Raft “42.”  That was a designation, not a name.  Just a number.  Number 42 on his long list of bad, bad ideas.

The helicopter ride out to 42 took much longer than he expected, but maybe that was because he was too sore to be riding in vibrating metal for hours on end.  He wasn’t wearing his arm in the sling because he wasn’t fooling anyone and the extra weight on his shoulders hurt just as much as anything else.  And everything hurt, from the tips of his singed hair to his broken toes. 

Then he thought of Rhodey when he last left him, awake, talking, joking, but more scared that he had ever seen his best friend.  He swallowed against the feeling of choking on his own air and pressed his hand over the left side of his chest, just near enough to the arc reactor scar to know it wasn’t still there. 

The ever-constant rain pelted the helicopter as it circled 42’s coordinates.  Tony didn’t listen to the chatter as the pilot and air traffic control exchanged passwords, but he couldn’t help but watch as the prison rose from its watery grave so the helicopter could come in to land.

Tony slipped the sling back on—better to hide the gauntlet in—and thumbed through his StarkPad with his free hand. 

This visit was a new part of his duties.  Tony snorted.  Apparently Secretary Ross was determined to keep him as active as his “active duty consultant” status would allow, and he now had to make monthly visits to 42 to oversee upgrades to the security and electronic defense systems.  

And so Ross could parade him in front of his friends, remind them exactly who was on the inside and who was on the outside and why.

And it was an order.  He could do that now, give Tony orders to follow, as long as they were in line with the Sokovia Accords and within U.N. sanctions.  Apparently, the U.N. agreed that the continued security of The Raf—of 42 ranked high on the Avenger’s agenda.

The Avengers.  Tony thought the name before he could stop himself, and it was all he could do to hold back a cry.  He had his mike turned off, and the rain and the rotors were too loud for the pilot to hear.  But they were almost landing and Tony couldn’t afford to lose any ground here.

Secretary Ross met them in the hanger.  If he was pleased with Tony’s battered appearance, his cool, appraising glance didn’t betray much.  The debriefing on Siberia had been painful.  Tony glanced around the cold concrete walls to distract himself from that memory, but his gaze flickered over the row of cages, empty and waiting for transport on their automated tracks, like some hellish theme park ride.  Those had been his idea, too.  The cages could be unloaded from the plane and placed on the tracks, and they would go down the elevator and around to the back of the cells to latch onto the door.  That way, the prisoners would never have to come into contact with a person.

If T’Challa hadn’t brought Zemo in, Tony was pretty sure he knew where his future would have been headed.  Still, he was surprised to find himself following Ross to the detention cells rather than the control rooms. 

“Why do I have a feeling you’re going to throw me in a cell after all?” Tony asked.

“Oh, I will, Mr. Stark.  Just give me a reason.  But no.  You know why you’re here today.”

“I was told it was to upgrade security measures.  Why aren’t we going to security?”

Secretary Ross nodded.  “Yes, that’s all correct.  We’re going to see the problem now.”

They stepped into an elevator and Tony was hyperaware of Ross’s hand gliding down the buttons.  He pulled in a breath when Ross went past the 7 and pressed 15.  Ross noticed.

“Of course, you are probably anxious to conduct a welfare check on your friends first.”  Ross’s hand lifted towards the control panel.

“Anxious to get to work,” Tony said quickly.  “I’ll see them before I leave.”

“Right,” Ross said and the elevator passed the seventh level and continued down. 

Tony’s anxiety rose as the elevator descended.  He hated going down this far, past the guards’ barracks and the detention levels.  The last lingering taste of salt water in the air faded into metal and concrete and disinfectant.  The constant thrum of the pumps echoed through the empty spaces between the walls and jarred his nerves.  He would feel it if they turned on, and maybe he would have enough time to make it to the top before the prison was fully submerged _if_ he had the suit—but the suit was pretty far away now.

He had to consciously relax the hand folded in the sling to keep the repulsor from firing up.

The elevator finally came to a stop and the door opened, and Tony took a deep breath of recycled air before following Ross down a grey corridor.  Guards in black masks and full tactical gear guarded a door at the end, but they stepped aside and let them through.  Beyond them was a second set of door with a biometric scanner.

The first set of doors clicked shut behind Tony, and Ross paused and turned to him.  “You have first-hand experience in combat with one of our detainees,” he said.  “We are building an area to accommodate his larger self, and we would like your expert input on the design.”

“If you’re talking about the 100-foot class clown suit, I can definitely tell you that’s not an inside toy,” Tony said.

Ross turned and pressed his hand to the scanner, and the doors opened with a hermetic hiss.  “No,” he replied, “I’m not talking about Scott Lang.”

Beyond the doors was a thick glass wall, then a bare cell with a small, unconscious man curled up on the floor.  Tony didn’t recognize him at first.  His hair was cropped short and his beard was longer than he was used to seeing it.  But after a moment, he saw it was Bruce.

Tony didn’t know how long he stared through the glass as his thoughts spiraled.  How long had Bruce been there, deep in the prison?  Tony didn’t even know when it had been built.  It certainly didn’t spring up overnight, even though the idea had been born between shots of vodka with Rhodey.  It had been shortly after the Battle of New York and they had been drunk and exorcising demons, and thinking of ways to keep Loki shut the _fuck up._ He gave the idea to the military and it had ended up in Ross’s hands—when exactly?

But Bruce was so thin and haggard, and barely breathing.  Tony couldn’t even tell.  He was restrained in the same blue straight jacket and black control collar that Wanda was forced to wear.  The biomedical sensors embedded in the jacket could send a signal to the collar to sedate the wearer if their heart or respiration rate reached a certain threshold.  He had to trust the readings displayed on the glass to be accurate.

“How long?” Tony said without looking at Ross.  He couldn’t tear his eyes off the glass, even though he was trying to see through Bruce more than at him.

“As soon as possible.  This is top priority.”

“No.  I’m not going to help you do that.”

“That,” Ross pointed at the Bruce, “is a criminal and a murderer in several countries.”

“You’ve had him here for a lot longer than those papers have been signed.”

Bruce looked limp and pale.  His body temperature was low, and his heart rate was slow but steady.  He was sedated, heavily.  Tony’s hope swelled thinking that maybe he wasn’t aware of anything.

“Do you keep him like this all the time?  Or did he misbehave somehow?” Tony asked.

“You first, Mr. Stark.  Answer one of my questions about him and I’ll answer one of yours,” Ross said.

The extent of Ross’s manipulation began to sink in.  _“Do you even know where Banner is right now?”_ Ross’s mocking words echoed in Tony’s mind.  Ross had him.  Ross had him this whole fucking time.

A thousand possible plans passed thorough Tony’s mind at once, but a sickening dread squashed them all.  He couldn’t do anything at all, not legally, not right now without his suit, without anything but a single gauntlet on a broken arm and a pair of armed guards right outside the door.

He’d taken on the Winter Soldier with barely any more, but that was with Natasha at his back, and he didn’t have her, and Rhodey was—

Tony turned around and left Bruce and Ross behind as he escaped through the outer door with as much grace as he could muster.  He needed to get out of there.  Ross let him go.

The click of his heels echoed off the metal walls and made the hallway seem a lot longer than it should have been.  He wanted to turn around and see if Ross was following, but he forced his eyes forward even though he could feel the sweat drip down his neck.  The ventilation this far down really sucked.

Ross wasn’t following, but an armed guard was posted in the elevator.  He glanced coolly at Tony before training his eyes forward again. 

“Going up, Sir?”

“Yup.”

He pushed the button to level 7 without asking anything else.  In the reflection of the metal door, Tony could see the soldier’s eyes flick slightly to the side.  He was listening to a comm, but Tony couldn’t tell anything else by his body language.

The elevator opened and the guard didn’t follow, but that didn’t matter because there were guards visible every ten feet on this level.  He stalked down the now-familiar hallway to the detention block.  His handprint let him inside.

The three men looked up as the door hissed open.  Sam still had the expression of hopeful apprehension and scornful disappointment that he had every time Tony walked through the door.  Scott watched curiously.  Clint just looked tired; he barely lifted his head to look before tucking it back into his arm to sleep.

None of them talked to Tony any more, not since Sam had told him Steve’s plans.  They stared with faces blank as stone when he asked how they were doing or what they needed. He still asked, though, even if by now he knew it was for completely selfish reasons.  But Clint must have seen too much in his face when he approached the archer’s cell because he turned so he could look Tony in the eyes.  He was listening.

Tony didn’t waste any time with preamble.  “They have Bruce,” he said.

Clint’s eyes went wide and he jolted as if he was going to gear up and rescue him himself.  “Who?”

“Here.  Ross.  They want me to build a Hulk cage.”

All the energy went right out of Clint and he sagged back down on the bench and stretched out on his back with an amused expression and stared at the ceiling.  “Of fucking course they do.”

Tony licked his lips and forced himself to ask the next question.  “Are they hurting you or…anything?  Do you need anything?”

The archer’s eyes seethed with anger but didn’t leave the ceiling.  “Fuck off. Go have your moral conniption somewhere else.”

That was all he was getting from Clint.  He could change his tone and his tactics, but no words would change anything.  Tony looked across the way to Sam and Scott, but they were following Clint’s lead and pointedly ignoring him.

Tony spun around and forced himself to slow down so he wasn’t running out the door for the second time that hour.  He had done his duty.  He could go now.

He couldn’t get up to sea air fast enough, but his throat was still too tight to talk even with the shock of rain and salt spray on the helipad.  He motioned to the helicopter pilot to get the engines going.

 His breathing didn’t even out until they were in the air and he was watching the prison sink below the dark, churning sea.  He needed a suit and a plan.  He needed Rhodey.  He needed Natasha, but she was in the wind.

T’Challa wouldn’t be any help—he wasn’t in a political position _to_ help even if he had an inclination.

Vision was wracked with guilt over Rhodey and Wanda.  He might be able to be swayed, especially if it was to free her.  But he’d signed the Accords, and Tony was reluctant to drag him into another fight.  The same went for the Spider Kid.

He was out of allies.  And he couldn’t call Steve.

He wouldn’t call Steve. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

_Long Island, New York_

The little black burner phone was heavy in Tony’s hand as he paced in front of the mammoth fireplace in his family’s mansion.  At the rate he was going, the carpet was going to have to be replaced.  He felt like blasting every bit of the house into toothpicks, like ripping a hole in the fabric of space and time and going back to _fix_ all this bullshit.  

He stopped himself from going down that mental road and his feet stopped along with his thoughts.  There wasn’t any time for self-pity, for wondering if maybe he _could_ have stopped it all from happening if he could have stopped his dad from leaving that night.

A cold spike of pain cut through his chest when he remembered what his dad had been carrying in the back of the car.  If his parents had stayed, would the Winter Soldier have come to the house?  Would he have seen his mother being strangled by that metal hand?  Those doses of the serum must have been in the house while he was there, too, and he never knew.  Of course, he knew so little about his own father, and it seemed as though he was getting farther away the more Tony learned of his world.

He was crushing the phone in his hand.  His very normally human hand did nothing to it, but he still loosened his grip.  It was just his luck that he couldn’t afford to lose some crappy flip phone.

He flopped down onto the couch and took out his StarkPhone.

“FRIDAY.”

“Yes, Boss?”

“I need you to pretend to be someone else.”  Tony dismantled the flip phone as he spoke and inserted the SIM card into the StarkPhone’s chip reader.

“Do you have someone specific in mind?”

“Yeah.  Me.  I want you to send everything we have on project 42 to whatever number is on this card.  Erase your tracks.  I don’t even want _you_ knowing what you did.”

“Right away, Boss,” she said, eager at the challenge.  She didn’t even question him, so young and naïve.  He missed JARVIS.

He groaned and sank deeper into the plush ivory velvet.  His mother loved this couch.  She never sat in it, but she loved to look at it.  After a moment, he got up and placed the flip phone back into his father’s desk drawer.

****

_Wakanda_

Steve leaned over the smooth grey metal of the balcony railing and drew in a deep breath of humid jungle air.  He liked being out here with the verdant smell of life all around him, so far away from the numbing ice.  This spot was especially good for catching the mist off the waterfall, which was always calming after he visited Bucky.  He didn’t know if he could call it a visit when it was really just a one-sided conversation through glass while Bucky was in stasis.  But he looked like was sleeping, dreamless, timeless, and it was more peaceful than Steve could have hoped for.

But it was hard to go, and a stop by the waterfall on the way out of the medical center made it easier because he could feel the mist on his face.

He was gathering his thoughts to leave when the phone in his pocket vibrated.  He took it out and stared hard at the number on the screen.  He couldn’t believe it.  Not even two months and Stark was already in trouble.

He took a deep breath to steady himself then accepted the call, but instead of connecting with Stark, the phone’s screen went dark then lit up in strings of symbols and dashes.  Steve stared.  He couldn’t see a pattern.   If anything, it looked to him like the phone was trying to open a file type its software didn’t support.

His eyes narrowed at the still-scrolling screen.

****

_Avengers’ Compound, Upstate New York_

A week later, Tony’s office phone rang.

“It’s Secretary Ross,” FRIDAY said.

“Put him through.”

“Stark, there’s been a breach at the Raft--!”

Tony cut him off with a finger on the hold button and stared at the blinking red light.  He let out a huge breath and took in another lungful of air.  It felt like he’d been holding his breath for days.

The light blinked, angry and insistent. 

“What does he want, FRIDAY?” Tony asked.  “Give me the Cliff’s Notes.”

“He wants you to stop them.”

Ross didn’t know.  He didn’t know that Tony leaked the plans, he didn’t know.  He wanted Tony to get out there and join the fray.

Well, he didn’t need a written invitation.

The red light was still blinking as Tony ran down to the workshop. 

****

_The Raft, somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean_

Tony circled wide around the coordinates. The prison was still submerged, according to FRIDAY’s scans through the thick cumulonimbus clouds.  The matte black stealth suit hid him from most detection, but if he got too close the repulsors would show up on an infrared scan, and even though the suit had no exterior lighting he couldn’t hide the repulsors from a visual, either.

Another circle around the prison and it hadn’t moved to surface yet. 

“FRIDAY, where’s their plane?”

The scanner popped up in the corner of his HUD, and Tony could see the answer before FRIDAY replied.

“There is no plane.  We’re the only thing in the sky.”

Right.  He hoped someone had an escape plan.

He cut the repulsors and there was a sickening moment of acceleration before he was in control of his fall.  He dove feet-first into the ocean, and the suit took the brunt of the force when he broke the water’s surface, but he still held his breath until he heard FRIDAY'S report.

“Seal integrity 100%.”

Tony could breathe again when he was sure it wasn’t his last breath.  Then he locked his knees and his elbows and fired the repulsors in little bursts to propel himself through the water.  He knew the weakness in the ballast tank that he could use to get in, and the metal grating on the water intake was already peeled back when he got there.

****

Steve rappelled blindly down the elevator shaft.  His vision was good in the dark, but not perfect, so he followed the echoes of sound down more than his sight.  Every few floors, he could hear guards scrambling to get in, but the blast doors were thick enough to try to keep Wanda inside, much less a laser torch.  It would take them a while to make any progress and he didn't have a wide window anyway.

No one was trying to break through the doors on Level 8.  Steve stopped short and wedged his toes into corners of the doorway’s ledge.  The plans Tony sent said there was an access panel to the electronics hidden in the wall by the door, but he didn’t bother with it.  He made sure the gas canisters on his belt were secured before he reached up and grabbed the rope above his head and flipped his legs up to twine around and grab it so he could hang upside down with his hand free.  An old circus trick, Barton had called it.

Steve reached down and wedged his fingers into the crack between the blast doors and pulled them open.  It was dark inside the detention level, too, but he counted on them having night vision goggles.  The first canister he tossed in was a flash grenade, followed quickly by the gas.  He could hear the guards coughing as he reached up and pulled himself back up the rope a foot or two away from the misty cloud coming from the broken seal of the door.

One good breath of air, and Steve pushed himself off the wall and swung back to kick in the door.  The heavy steel flattened the guard behind it, and Steve rolled to his feet, ready to fight, but the guards were already down.  He checked each one quickly, just to make sure they were truly sedated and not either dead or faking it, but they were knocked out.  The last canister on his belt neutralized the air so he could breathe again.

The floor was deadly quiet in the dark, and the cells were lit so that it was hard to see past the glare on the glass.   He had to step close to see that the first cell he approached was Sam Wilson, standing at parade rest and peering into the darkness beyond his cell.  Sam’s face broke into the widest smile he’d seen since waking up in a D.C. hospital so many months ago.

“Cap,” Sam said simply, though his voice broke a little at the end of the syllable. 

Steve shook his head.  “Not anymore.  We’re getting the hell out of here.”

As he spoke, he took the hard key cracker out of his belt and configured it for the lock.  He’d gleaned it from one of the arrows in the armory that Hawkeye had left behind.  More than any of them, Clint knew how to travel light and fast, and he’d only taken his most effective non-lethal arrows into the battle in Berlin.  Most of the electronic ones had stayed behind, including the key cracker. 

“We can’t leave without Wanda,” Sam said in a rushed whisper.  “They’re holding her somewhere else.  I haven’t seen her since we got here.” 

The key cracker whirred and stopped and the door slid open.  They reach out and clasped shoulders, then Sam pulled him closer for a hug.  “I knew you would come.”

Sam peeled off the blue biometric monitoring scrubs to the grey shirt and pants underneath while Steve unlocked the other cages.  Hawkeye, watching through the glass with his arms folded over his chest, had a grim expression on his face as he peered into the dark and tried to follow the sounds.  When Steve stepped out the shadows, the blank stare disappeared from his grey eyes, and they refocused on the objective immediately. 

“Don’t supposed you found my bow?” he asked as Steve unlocked the cage.

Steve shook his head as he moved on to Scott’s cage.

“Where’s the shield?” Clint asked cautiously.

“Property of the U.S. Government,” Steve said.

Scott’s lock popped open, and he’d already stripped off the scrubs and down to the grey under suit.  “How about an escape plan?  Anyone got one of those?  Just because I’ve been to prison it doesn’t mean I can just MacGyver something out of bed sheets and a sea turtle.”

“Can you talk to sea turtles?” Sam asked.

“No,” Scott replied.  He considered.  “Can you talk to birds?”

“We need to get moving,” Steve said.  “There’s a plan.  Don’t leave without Wanda.”  He looked at his watch.  “In the hanger in 10.”

“Elevator shaft?” Clint asked.

“Elevator shaft,” Steve affirmed.

“You make this look so easy,” Clint said as he jogged past him across the room. 

Steve caught up.  “Well, we’re still under water.”

****

Steve’s tired band of soldiers climbed through the back corridors up to the hanger.  It was slow going, especially for Scott who was competent, but clumsy on the ropes.  Clint stayed low to help him up, and to rely on his reflexes in case of a fall, but they all made it up in one piece.  Still, Steve called for a halt in a large crawlspace to catch their breaths. 

A panel in the metal floor vibrated under Steve, and he pushed himself back and up onto his knees in as defensive a position as the low ceiling would allow.  He didn’t have any weapons besides his fists and heavy boots, and that wouldn’t do much good against a gun. 

He certainly wasn’t prepared for the verbal attack that followed the dark mop of hair peeping up from the floor panel. 

“Holy shit, Rogers—don’t you fucking say ‘language’—don’t just punch me in the face as soon as you see me.”

Steve hadn’t moved, and the rest of the team, mostly hidden in the dark behind him, froze when they heard Tony’s voice and realized who it was.

Tony, completely undisturbed by the eerie silence and Steve’s still-looming fists, pulled himself up all the way so he was sitting on the edge of the access tunnel with his feet dangling into the vertical one below.  He was wearing the plain black uniform and tact vest the guards wore, but no suit.

“What are you doing here, Tony?” Steve managed to get his voice to work, and he was surprised at the low, warning tone.

“I come bearing gifts.  I went through the armory and picked up your stuff.  It’s pretty impossible to get out of here without some kind of fire power, and the armory is in the opposite direction.  I’m saving you some trouble!”

“You shouldn’t be here,” Steve warned.  “If anyone sees you helping us…”

Tony shrugged and pulled several duffle bags up from the vent below.  One went to Clint, one to Scott, and one to Sam, though Tony looked sheepish as he passed that one over.  “It’s your armor and your guns,” he explained, “but not the wings or the drone.  They aren’t here.”

“Are they safe?”

“In my workshop right now,” Tony winced.  “We’ll…figure something out.”

Sam shook his head.  “Thanks for this at least.  It’s a start.”

“Happen to know the way out?” Steve asked.

Tony nodded and pulled up his feet and the floor panel below.  He secured it and beckoned the team to follow him down the narrow metal corridor. 

“What about Wanda?” Tony whispered over his shoulder.

“She’s being taken care of,” Steve reassured Tony.  “The plans y— on the Raft were pretty complete, so there’s a squad taking care of her rescue below.  They’ll meet us in the hanger.

“What about Bruce?” Tony asked.  He didn’t know if he said it louder than he meant to because everyone froze. 

“Bruce?” Steve asked.  “Where’s Bruce?  He wasn’t in the files.”  He halted mid-crawl, which jerked everyone else behind him to a stop.  From the back he heard Scott’s faint “ow.”

Tony tried to turn around to face Steve, but that just ended in banged knees and elbows.  He turned to talk over his shoulder.  “Further down.”

“How far?” Then Steve shook his head.  “One thing at a time.  We have a rendezvous point to make.”

The access vent spilled them out into a larger corridor.  There were slots in the vent covers, so it was easy for Hawkeye to silently pick off the guards with sedative darts through the slits.  Then they were looking through a hallway window out into the hanger, where Natasha and Wanda were sitting on a cargo crate, waiting patiently for them. 

Tony followed last, keeping his distance from everyone.  No one had left him on kind terms, and most had threatened actual violence the next time they saw them.  And he couldn’t blame them at all.  He hated himself for signing the Accords, but he couldn’t see a future where that wasn’t the most reasonable choice. 

“We can’t leave Bruce!” Wanda’s plaintive voice cut through Tony’s self-pity.  He looked up and she was off the crate and running across the hanger towards them.  Like the others, she’d gotten rid of the blue monitoring clothes and was dressed in grey pants and an oversized grey sweatshirt.

Steve caught her by the forearms and looked her in the eyes.  “We’re not going to.  Tony said the same thing.”

She cast him a look somewhere between withering and frightened. 

“Natasha is going to take you, Sam, Scott and Clint to the rendezvous point we have planned. Tony and I are going to go back down for him and you,” he looked at Natasha and Clint, “are going to circle back and come get us.”

“I know where he is,” Wanda countered.  “It is better if I come with you.”

“So does Tony.  It’s better if you’re with the bulk of the team to protect them,” Steve pointed out.  “Come back and get us.”

“You’re going to want me there,” Wanda replied, and there was an ominous tone to her voice that made Steve stop. 

“Is he ok?” Sam asked and jogged the few feet over to join their circle.  “Does he need a medic?”

Steve paused and drew himself up to his full height to consider his team one by one.  His gaze fell upon Tony last and Tony swore he stared at him for twice as long as the others.  

“Ok, we’re all going back down,” Steve said.   “We can do this better as a team.”


	3. Chapter 3

Going down was much faster with Wanda on point because she could _sense things_ through the walls, and she did seem familiar with the twists and turns in the bowels of the cube, so they could avoid the crawl spaces and go through the normal service corridors without too much worry of being detected.  Natasha covered their rear, her eyes on Tony, and Steve dropped back to talk to her.

“Whatever happens, you take Wanda and get out of here,” he said.  She nodded once, even though she didn’t look at him, probably hoping that Tony didn’t hear.

There was little resistance since the guards knew all the prisoners were loose.  They saw less and less as they ventured down the staircases awash in red emergency lighting.  But Tony could feel the vibrations in the wall change slow, then change pitch and pick up again.  He reached out and grabbed the elbow of Steve’s leather jacket.

“They’re going to seal off the staircase and gas us out,” he said.  “The ventilation fans just reversed.”

“I can take care of that,” Scott said.  “Just need a way in.”

“Vent right there,” Tony pointed a few feet above their heads on the wall.  “Do you know where you’re going?”

Scott shrugged.  “Look for the giant fan.  There’s always a giant fan, isn’t there?”

Tony growled a little under his breath and fumbled at his wrist.  He slapped his watch onto Scott’s wrist and held down the dial on the side until a blue holographic schematic of the prison appeared in the air above it.

“I _was_ just going to follow the airflow,” Scott said as he studied the hologram.

“Go,” Steve cut him off.  “Meet us in the hanger.  Wanda, give him a boost.”

Scott barely had time to click his helmet into place and shrink down before he was flying through the air on a cloud of red mist.  He disappeared into the ventilation system.

“Who _is_ that guy?” Tony asked, but he was met with silence as the team continued down.

Wanda stopped them outside the reinforced door to level 15.

“There are a lot of guards in a narrow hallway,” she said.  She sounded amused more than anything.  “A lot of guns.  Where do they think their bullets are going to go in such a small space?  I am going to need more room, I think.”

She motioned them back up the stairwell and faced the door.  Natasha had both guns trained on the closed door, and Clint’s bow was drawn, but they both looked more curious than tense.  After a deep breath, Wanda threw her arms open and the door flew open at her command.  Tony ducked his head into his hands and covered his ears as the sound of dozens of automatic rifles being fired echoed up the stairwell, but the bullets stopped after a few short bursts.  He peeked down the stairwell and saw hundreds of bullets caught in Wanda’s scarlet tendrils.  Her entire body glowed with the effort to keep them in place, but after a second her eyes narrowed and she pulled her arms back, and with them the red strings of magic yanked the rifles from the guards’ hands.  They flew past her to clatter down the stairs behind her, and with another sharp gesture she shut the door before the guards could react.

Wanda turned to look up at them with a proud smile.  “There,” she said, slightly breathless.  “More even now.”

Natasha snorted, but it took moments for her and Steve to clear the hallway while Clint and Sam covered the stairs.  Once they picked their way past the unarmed, and now unconscious, guards, there was just the biometric scanner at the end of the hallway to contend with.  Natasha already had the control panel open when Tony got there.

“I can bypass this,” she reassured.

“No need.  I got Ross’s handprint last time we shook hands,” Tony replied.  He reached under the cuff of his shirt—for the watch that wasn’t there.  “It’s in the watch,” he groaned.

Natasha shook her head and went back to the control panel.  It took a few minutes, and Clint offered to just shoot the thing, but it slid open before they got too impatient.

And then Tony was staring through a thick glass wall again, looking at the man curled up on the floor without really recognizing him.  Sam pushed him aside to get a good look at the biometric readings displayed on the glass, while Natasha bent back to the control panel to try to get it open.

“He’s not going to wake up any time soon,” Sam said.  “But he’s stable enough to move.”

Natasha wasn’t having any luck with the glass.  Tony ran his hands along the seal between the glass and door, but he couldn’t feel anywhere it was broken.  “I don’t think the glass opens from this side,” he said.

The others stared at him.  “Didn’t you design this place?” Clint was the first to say it.

“Yes, but no! No!  They didn’t use my exact schematics.  Why do you think I didn’t know Bruce was here for so long?”

“What’s the glass made of?” Clint asked.

“Graphene.”

He dialed an arrow up on his quiver, drew and shot it.  It stuck to the glass with the slight sucking whoosh of a vacuum seal, then it beeped and started vibrating.

“Sonic resonance arrow,” Clint said.  “Should do the trick.”

Sure enough, the glass started to vibrate more violently and crack as the arrow found the right frequency.  They hit the ground in anticipation of the glass shattering, but Wanda easily caught the shards and held them glittering in the air for a second before lightly setting them down.

The silvery dust settled in Bruce’s hair and beard, making him look even greyer and more worn than he was. Without the glass between them, it was disconcerting how still he was; Tony couldn’t even see him breathing.

Sam had the most medical training of all of them, but Clint was the most experienced in the field.  Between them, they quickly felt Bruce over for broken bones.  When they pulled up his scrub top, Tony saw open sores on his thin skin, but they were too quick to cover him back up again for Tony to get a good look.

Surprisingly, Wanda dove into the cell along with the two team medics.  She pulled Bruce’s head into her lap as soon as Sam could tell her his neck wasn’t injured and brushed the glass out of his hair as she spoke low in Sokovian.  Tony stared so hard that he didn’t move when Steve came up behind him.

“She’s telling him he’s safe,” Steve said.

“Not yet,” Clint said.  “But we’re getting close.  Time to go.”

He and Sam lifted Bruce up and onto Sam’s shoulders and they all headed back up the stairs.  Sam looked longingly at the elevator as they passed and shifted Bruce’s weight a little.  Steve saw it and paused.  “Here, give him to me,” he said.

“Just because I don’t bench press Harleys doesn’t mean I can’t—“ Sam started, but he was cut off by a jolt that nearly brought them all to the ground as the prison slowly began to surface.

“It’s too early.  Why are we surfacing?” Natasha said.

“Reinforcements,” Steve warned.  “We need to get to the hanger before we get to the surface.”

Sam began to sprint up the stairs two at a time, the rest of the team on his tail, and Tony clamored after them.  He was still running when his foot came down on air instead of the metal stair.  He looked down to see a red cloud enveloping him and the rest of the team, with Wanda in the center, and they were all rising up the stairwell as if buoyed by helium balloons.

Sam clutched Bruce tighter with one hand and high-fived Wanda with the other.

“Flying is so much better,” he said.

****

Steve kicked down the blast door to the hanger, and then they were sprinting to the empty helicopter pad.  A group of guards burst through a side door, but their bullets were ineffective against Wanda’s shield, and then the lead guard’s gun jammed right before Scott appeared full-sized in the middle of the group.

An arrow whizzed past Steve’s ear, and Scott shrank just in time to slip through the weave of the arrow’s electric net.  He reappeared next to Steve a second later and popped off his helmet with a hermetic hiss.

“Good job, Ant-Man.”

“Thank you, Captain America,” Scott beamed.

“ _Nice shot, Hawkeye,”_ Tony heard Clint mutter behind him.

“Nice shot, Hawkeye,” Natasha repeated.

“ _Ant-Man_?” Tony said. “Ant.  Man.”

Scott—Ant-Man—crossed his arms over his chest.  “I know.  I didn’t pick the name.”

“We don’t have much time until we reach the surface,” Sam said. “I think it’s time to call Uber.”

Tony didn’t know how Steve expected to get eight people out of a submerged prison, but he certainly was shocked when Steve reached into his belt pocket and took out a toy boat.  He walked over to the middle of the helipad and set it down.

“What the actual fuck, Steve,” Tony said, but the soldier took a blue disc out of his pocket and handed it over to Scott.

“Want to do the honors?” he said.

Scott grinned.  He took the blue disc and threw it at the toy boat.  It broke on impact and Tony watched as the toy boat transformed into a full-sized submersible vehicle.  Scott turned to Tony.

“What is this?  An escape plan for _ants?”_ he mocked.  “That’s right.  It is.  Ant-Man right here.”

“That’s not an escape plan, that’s a Hot Wheel.”

“Everyone in, now!” Natasha barked.

They got Wanda and Bruce settled on the floor of the hold before everyone else piled in.  Clint was the last to jump in, and he fired an explosive arrow and blew the seal on the hatch above them just as the door was closing.  They were still under the surface of the ocean, though not far down, and the water pressure caved in the hatch and seawater poured into the hanger.  Churning water and foam obscured the windows, but Natasha used the ship’s proximity sensors to pilot them out of the broken hatch and into the open sea.

Tony turned to look out the rear windows, but all he could see was the pitch black darkness of the ocean as they left the prison behind.


	4. Chapter 4

_New Jersey_

The submersible speedboat broke the surface of the inky water and Tony blinked at the dock lights through the canopy.  It was quiet, except for the lapping of the waves on the hull, but halogen floodlights lit up a line of huge cargo boats, loaded with Roxxon shipping containers.

Natasha slowed the boat as she cruised between the cargo ships to bump softly against the dock.  She popped the latch on the canopy and salty air, fetid with rotten shellfish, immediately relieved his claustrophobic feeling of being crammed in a small area with too many people.

The boat only had six seats, though Sam had curled up in the small hold with Bruce, who was still unconscious.

Steve was out of the boat first with Clint at his back.  They swept the dock before returning to the boat.

“All clear,” Clint confirmed.  He reached down and helped Wanda step up to the dock.  “How’s Bruce doing?”

“Still out cold,” Sam said.  “Breathing isn’t so great, but he’s alive.”

Tony followed Wanda up to the dock.  He wanted to help, but he was in the way and Sam needed room to lift Bruce up to Clint’s waiting hands.  Tony turned around to give them space and nearly ran right into Steve’s broad chest.

It really didn’t help that Tony wasn’t in the suit so he barely came up to Steve’s shoulder. He had to look up to see the stony expression on his face.  Natasha appeared out of the shadows behind him, expression even, but her arms crossed across her chest.

“I think you’ve come far enough,” Steve said. “You’re already aiding and abetting fugitives.  Stop now before you get caught.”

“You’ll break me out, though, right?” Tony tried for a light tone, but it sounded plaintive.  He coughed and turned to watch as Bruce was whisked away into the shadows.  “What about Bruce?  Where are you taking him?”

The expression in Steve’s eyes shifted.  “Isn’t it better if you don’t know?”

“I want to know he’s safe.”

Steve’s glance at Natasha was uncomfortable.  “We can’t, Steve,” Natasha said.  “We can’t take Bruce where we’re going.”  She looked towards Tony as if she’d already said too much.

Actually, Tony thought, there was a pretty long list of places that Bruce couldn’t go now--like every country that signed the Sokovian Accords and their allies--and it wasn’t exactly like Bruce had a passport.

Steve looked frustrated, as if he hadn’t really thought it through all the way, or didn’t want Natasha to confirm what he already knew.  Tony’s mind raced through lists of properties he owned, but everything he had was tied to Stark Industries, too obvious and easy to trace.  Clint came jogging out of the shadows before he could think of a response.

“Hey, what’s the hold up?  The next security shift is coming through here in two minutes.”

Steve looked at Tony, then off into the shadows.  “We’ll figure this out on the plane.  Let’s keep moving.”

Clint led the way around the maze of shipping containers to where the sleek, stolen quinjet was waiting.  The engines were still, but the lights inside were on and the gangplank was down.  Tony could see Sam moving around the berth where Bruce was laying, and he sprinted up the last few steps.  The others bustled around him, strapping themselves into the seats, but Tony just took a firm hold of the side of the bed and no one tried to move him.

Bruce was still wearing the awful blue prison scrubs and the black control collar was still secured around his neck.  His thin face was haggard under the heavy beard, and a bloody purple bruise covered his left eye, reaching from cheekbone to hairline.  Tony reached down to touch the collar and try to fiddle it off, but the quinjet chose that moment to take off, and he clutched at the bed again to steady himself. 

“Let’s see why you’re still asleep,” Sam said as he pressed Bruce’s finger to a blood analyzer.  It beeped after a few seconds and Sam whistled low and looked sadly down at Bruce.  “Propofol, sodium thiopental, lorazepam and a ketamine kicker.  How are you still alive?  That would explain the bedsores…or concrete cell sores.  You couldn’t even move.”

The plane was even in the air now, so Tony dared to run his fingers along the edges of the control collar. It was tight enough to leave an indentation on Bruce’s skin, and Tony couldn’t get his fingers under it, much less enough space for cutters or a laser torch.

“Natasha, how did you get Wanda’s collar off?” Tony called over his shoulder.

“I did it,” Wanda said, so close to Tony’s ear that he couldn’t help the cold shiver that ran down his back.  She stepped forward so she was standing next to Tony, looking down at Bruce.  She didn’t move her hands, but red energy snaked from her fingers, up Bruce’s body to his neck, and disappeared into the collar.  A second later, there was an audible click and Wanda nodded to Sam.

“Be careful. There are needles and things,” she warned.

Sam was gentle, though, as he eased the collar loose with gloved hands until he could see where a thin catheter ran from the control box under Bruce’s skin to his jugular.  Tony turned away as Sam removed it and cleaned all around his irritated neck with alcohol swabs before taping a piece of gauze over the wound.

“Propofol wears off pretty quickly, so let’s get him comfortable before he starts waking up,” Sam said.  “Though with all the rest of the drugs, who knows how long he’ll sleep.”

Sam did a more thorough exam now that he had space and light and first aid supplies.  He started Bruce on intravenous fluids and nutrients, and with Tony’s help, they got him sitting up a little against a stack of pillows to help him breathe.  More cushions went under his knees and hips to take the pressure off the bruises along his side, and an oxygen saturation monitor was clipped to his finger. Sam took a stethoscope from a drawer and warmed it in his hand before he slipped it under the blue cloth and pressed it to Bruce’s chest and sides. 

“They must have just left him on his left side on the floor most of the time,” Sam said.  “There’s fluid in his left lung, too, probably because he couldn’t expand his chest all the way on that side.”

“He’s got pneumonia,” Tony said.

“Probably.  Would be better if we could get x-rays.” Sam shrugged and put the stethoscope aside.  “Any way you look at it, he’s going to need a place to rest for a while and heal up.”  He looked over at the others. Wanda was still standing and looking down silently at Bruce.  Clint was in deep discussion with Steve and Natasha, and Scott was falling asleep, still buckled into in his seat.  They were all going to need a place to rest.

Tony made his way over to the long bench seat behind the cockpit, across from where Scott was nodding off.  Natasha and Clint fell abruptly silent at his approach and it was all he could do to keep the scowl off his face.  He wished he had his armor just so he could roll his eyes in peace.

 “I get it. You all hate me.  I hate me, too.  I just want to make sure Bruce is safe and then I’ll let Robin Hood and Little John and all you merry…” he looked Natasha up and down “…people on your outlaw ways.”

“There aren’t a lot of places we can take him,” Natasha said. “Nowhere secure.  I’m out of safehouses.”

Steve stared straight out the window, not even acknowledging Tony’s pleading glance in his direction.  Tony watched the muscle in his jaw work for a second before he turned to Clint.

“You got a place?” Tony implored.

Clint had been doing his best impression of Steve, hands on the controls and eyes focused forward, but Tony’s words made him whip around, incensed. 

“You _know_ I do.  You’ve been there.”  He scoffed.  “Not secure anymore after you go running your goddam—“

“ _Clint,”_ Steve sighed from the seat next to him.

“—your _fucking_ mouth to Secretary fucking Ross!”

Tony backed up from Clint’s rage.  He was armed, and right now Steve looked far more likely to rebuke him for profanity than for cutting Tony’s throat.

“Tony,” Sam’s deep voice called.  There was no doubt he heard Clint and was trying to get Tony away from the situation.  But then Sam said, “He’s waking up.”

He retreated back to the bed where Bruce was propped up.  His eyes were opened, and even though they weren’t quite focused, he was looking at Wanda who was settled cross-legged at the foot of his bed.  When he heard Tony approach, he turned to look at him and Tony was shocked to see how blood-shot his left eye was.

“Hey Bruce,” Tony said softly.  Bruce looked at him blankly for a second before he seemed to vaguely recognize him.  “I know it’s been a while but how can you forget a face like this?”

“Tony…” Bruce said.  His voice sounded listless and far away.  “What happened?”

Tony looked to Sam and Wanda, but they weren’t any help.  “What do you remember?” Tony asked.

Bruce’s eyes went blank and fuzzy, but after a moment all he could do was stutter, “I don’t know” a few times before Tony shushed him.

“You’re drugged,” Sam said when Bruce was a little calmer.  “Some of the sedatives they gave you have strong amnesic effects.  It’s ok if you don’t remember.”

“Maybe even better,” Wanda said.

Her voice caught Bruce’s attention and his gaze drifted back to her at the foot of the bed.  “I remember you,” he said.

Tony held his breath.  Wanda had changed so much, and she wasn’t the same person who goaded Hulk into a berserker rage in Wakanda, but he wasn’t too sure if Bruce knew that.  If he were honest with himself, he was still uneasy around her.  He never stayed in the same room alone with her, not if he could help it.

But a slow, natural smile spread across Wanda’s red lips. “I remember you, too.”

She reached up the blanket and took hold of one of his hands, and he at first looked like he wanted to pull away but he didn’t have the strength.  Wanda held on, though, and a subtle red aurora shimmered where their hands touched.  Tony could see the tension bleed from Bruce’s body as he allowed his body to relax and sink deeper against the mattress.  Then he was asleep.

Wanda was quiet for a long moment before she spoke.  She knew the whole jet was listening, and Tony could see her looking for the right words before she started.

“They brought me down that narrow hallway and let me see him through the glass.  They asked if I knew who he was—who he _really_ is, and I said yes.  They wanted me to do what I did in Wakanda.”

“They wanted you to make him angry,” Steve said.

“Mm, no.  Not right away.  They wanted me to make him feel other things first, to see if I could.”  She smiled again, sad and soft.  “He cries easily, which is good.  It gave them a show, and they were satisfied, and I was locked back in my cell.”

“They used you to mentally manipulate Bruce?” Steve said.  “That’s a violation.”

Wanda bobbed her head from side to side in a noncommittal gesture.  “He is a troubled man.  But he is gentle.  The guards were going to hurt him in worse ways than I would.

“I did not want to dig through his pain again, so I showed him mine.  I showed him what it felt like to be crushed under rubble, wishing and wishing the bomb trapped with you stays silent.  I showed him what it looked like to see your parents torn and bleeding in front of you…that one was not so far from home.  I showed him how I begged Hydra to make me what I am.  The feeling of half your soul dying.”

Wanda fell quiet, her eyes still resting on Bruce’s slack face.  She seemed to forget that anyone else was listening.

“He is very sensitive,” she repeated.  “He cried for me many times, and that satisfied the jailors enough to leave us alone for a while.”

No one spoke after she was done.  After a moment, the plane tilted as it banked and adjusted course.

Wanda and Sam shared a concerned look—not with Tony.  It was obvious how close the two had become as a team, and they didn’t spare the engineer a third thought.

“Where are we going?” Sam said as he looked out the window.

Clint looked back from the pilot’s seat.

“Home.”


	5. Chapter 5

_The Barton Homestead, Iowa_

Clint squinted at the night vision video screen and studied the grainy green and white view of the house.  After a few minutes, he leaned back in his chair, though his eyes stayed on the screen.

“At least they didn’t burn it down,” he mused after a moment.  “It could be trapped.  The whole state could be under surveillance.”  He sighed, frustrated.  “I won’t know until I’m on the ground, and by then they’ll detect the plane.”

Natasha had been leaning over his shoulder to see the screen, but she straightened up and put a hand on his shoulder.  “No, I can parachute in a few miles away and run reconnaissance.  I know my way around your booby traps.”

“I’ll go with you,” offered Steve.  “No one should be on their own right now.”

Tony really wanted to see the screen, too, but they weren’t projecting it on the monitors around the jet, just the little one in the cockpit console, and there were already four sets of wide shoulders crowded around it.

His watch buzzed on his wrist as FRIDAY tried to get his attention.  There was a message on the screen: Ross wanted a report on his failure to capture Steve and his prisoners. 

The voices in the cockpit became background white noise against his thoughts and he wandered the few steps back to Bruce’s bed.  Wanda was still sitting on the end, though her legs were stretched out between Bruce and the bulkhead, and she was dozing, if not asleep.  Tony was careful not to wake her as he picked up Bruce’s hand.

Bruce’s skin was too warm and dry, and there was no response when he squeezed a little.  Tony leaned close to Bruce’s face, and he could hear the rattle in his chest even without a stethoscope.  That was unnerving.  Bruce hadn’t been sick in the entire time that Tony knew him; he claimed that he couldn’t get sick with the Hulk’s radiation in his blood.

“You need to transform, buddy,” Tony whispered.  “Get all this shit out of your system and heal up.  I really want to stick around, but I’m not safe to be around right now.”

He didn’t respond.  Tony tucked his hand under the blanket and combed his fingers through Bruce’s too-long hair.  It needed to be washed, but it was still comforting to feel Bruce and know he was there.  All he ever wanted, all he tried to do, was to keep his family together.  He couldn’t imagine how much his mother and father –and Jarvis—meant to him until they died, and he never thought that he would have a second chance.

And he’d fucked it up again.  No, he thought as he tore his gaze away from Bruce’s worn face and surveyed the rest of the jet.  No, he hadn’t ruined this family.  Just his part in it.  And everything that he did to bring them together blew up in his face, and now he was the traitor, the enemy.

A plan slowly started to form in Tony’s head.

“I’ll go check it out,” Tony said.  He held up his watch so they could see the message.  “Ross wants me to report back on my…uh…efforts to capture you.”  He tried to smirk ironically to offset the information, but no one else smiled.  “So, it would only make sense that, if I lost track of you, I would go check out all the secret places you know.  I fly down there, stream a visual sweep to show Ross that a—you’re not there and b—I’m actually out there searching for you.  Then, if it’s safe, I’ll let you know.  Ross will think the place is already cleared and move on.”

“So you want us to trust you to tell us it’s not a trap?” Natasha said.  “Who’s playing double-agent now?”

“Learned from the best,” he said, flashing a more sincere grin.  “Come on, you know it’s a lot better than risking one of you getting caught.”

Steve nodded in agreement, but he looked to Clint.  “It’s your house.”

“Probably seized by the government,” Clint muttered.  “So Tony can do whatever he wants because that’s what he’s going to do anyway.”

“Sounds like permission to me,” Steve said, ignoring the tone.  He turned to Tony and said, “How are you going to fly in that?”  It was the first thing Steve had said directly to him since boarding the jet.

Tony pulled the Velcro on the sleek tactical vest he was still wearing.  He had stolen it from the guards to fit in on the Raft, and without some kind of armor he felt too exposed and vulnerable.  He was under no illusions that Ross wouldn’t kill him if he thought he could get away with it, no matter whose side he was on.

The heavy vest landed on the floor and he felt much better.

“FRIDAY is piloting Iron Man a few miles out,” he said.  “She’ll catch up in a few minutes.”

“You’re tailing us?” Clint sounded like this was the last straw, and Natasha leaned on the firm hand on his shoulder to keep him in the pilot’s seat.

“Iron Man is tracking you.  I was going to take the suit and find a good place to ‘lose’ you and report back to Ross!” Tony snapped back.  “But this is even better!  We’ll have video evidence that you’re not there right now.  It’s not my fault if you show up five minutes after I’ve left.”

“It’s going to be under electronic surveillance anyway,” Clint said.  “They’ll see us coming and leaving, and movement in the house if they have IR.”

“FRIDAY controls the satellites.  It’s not a problem.  Clint, wanna tell me where those booby traps are?”

“No.”

“Ok, good talk.” 

Tony was already heading towards the back hatch and he hit the door override.  The air pressure nearly forced him off the gangplank, but he grabbed the cargo net to keep his footing.  In the corner of his eye, he could see Sam slipping an oxygen mask over Bruce’s face, and he turned quickly to look out into the deep blue sky.

Steve seemed to suddenly realize what Tony was doing, and he reached forward with a stern “Tony!” just as he launched himself out of the back of the plane.  And then there was nothing but wind in his face as he turned over and let his arms and legs drag to slow him down.  His watch buzzed on his wrist, and he knew that FRIDAY was there a second before metal hands enclosed over his own and the rest of the suit followed.  As soon as the HUD lit up, he engaged the thrusters and shot off through the cloud in refractions of red and gold.

****

Tony landed on the dirt path that led right past the picket fence and up to the porch.  He had flown the perimeter several times, but there were no life form readings, or heat signatures, or wireless networks, or anything else that indicated people watching the area.  Still, he was cautious enough not to remove the visor.   Besides, Secretary Ross was watching a live stream, so he wanted to make sure he was seeing exactly what the Secretary of State was looking at.

He scanned the front yard.  It looked the same as he remembered.  There were a couple of kids’ bikes leaning against the porch rails, and the same rusted pickup on the far end of the dirt road.  The barn in the distance didn’t give any reading, either.  Not even chickens.  Tony wondered what happened to them.

Tony was very, very careful not to wonder about Laura and the kids out loud while Ross was listening.  Or the booby traps, though after a few minutes of scanning the grounds, he was beginning to think that was bullshit.  He went inside instead.

The interior of the clean, warm farmhouse looked like someone had picked it up, shaken it upside down, and put it back in its place.  Tony’s heart sank to the bottom of his boots as the front door swung open and he saw the extent of the damage.  The shelves had been swept bare, with books, toys and knick knacks covering the floor.  The curtains were falling off  torn-down rods, and the couch and cushions had been slashed open, polyfill spilling out of the wounds. 

Tony was so appalled that he had to cough to clear his throat before he could announce “all clear” over the radio.

“Good, go through the rest of the house, top to bottom,” Ross’s instructions came over the radio.

Tony started with upstairs, since he really didn’t want to save the kids’ rooms for last.  They had been kinder in there, but the mattresses were still slashed open and the dressers and closets torn apart.  Clint’s closet was a sea of torn-up plaid shirts strewn from top to bottom.  The mirror was broken in there, too, reflecting back a dozen different Iron Mans when he looked into it. 

He got out the bedrooms quickly, went through the sunroom and guestroom and basement and the den, but the kitchen was the most depressing.  The last time he was there, they had been in the middle of a war they didn’t expect to win, taking shelter from themselves as much as anything.  Tony rarely had a real family dinner around a kitchen table with home-cooked food, and he was going to remember it for the rest of his life.

Now, the place was trashed.  Whoever had gone through the place had swept all the dishes and mugs onto the floor so the porcelain crunched into white powder under his boots.

“All clear.  The place is clear,” Tony said as he stepped out the kitchen door onto the back porch.  He finally popped the seal on his helmet and drew in a deep breath of clean air.  His heart was racing and he didn’t think he could hide an anxiety attack right now.

“Did you find anything?” Ross’s gruff voice sounded thin through the radio without the helmet on.

“No, but I’ll look again.  And I’ll keep the place under FRIDAY’s satellite surveillance in case they come after I leave,” Tony said.

“I know you had something to do with this.  If I still had Rhodes on duty, I’d send him to make sure you weren’t bullshitting me.”

Tony rolled his eyes as dramatically as he could since no one was around to see.  As if Rhodey would rat him out.  “If you keep saying that every mission, no one’s going to believe you,” Tony said.  “You’re going to become the Secretary that called Stark.”

“A wolf is still a wolf,” Ross said.  “Sweep the place one more time and report back if you find something.  Then move on to the next place.  I’ll call you for a report tomorrow.”

The line went dead.  So much for military radio etiquette.  He bet that if he had been Steve, he would’ve at least been thrown a “roger” or an “over and out.”

Tony lifted his watch.  “FRIDAY, tell the others they can land now.  It’s all clear.”

****

Clint stepped over a pile of books on the floor and reached down to put a chair back on its feet.  He didn’t get any further than that before his gaze settled on the middle distance and he sighed.  Clint was too world-weary to be shocked by much, and his face looked less than impressed.  On the contrary, he looked like he was expecting it and was sorely disappointed to find out he was right again.

Shame crept down Tony’s spine to settle in his stomach and he felt ill.  He felt the need to say something, but no words came to him.  Natasha came to his rescue by pushing past him and putting her hand on Clint’s shoulder to get his attention.

“We’ll put Bruce in the bedroom down here?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Clint replied listlessly.  “It doesn’t have much in it, so it shouldn’t be that big of a mess.  Flip the mattress over and maybe it’ll be ok.”

Natasha nodded and ducked into the room towards the rear of the house, back where the trees filtered the sun and it was dark and cool.  Steve came in carrying Bruce with Sam close behind carrying a duffle bag of medical supplies from the jet, and Natasha called them both into the bedroom.  Wanda followed close behind, but she stopped in the doorway and put her hand over her mouth when she saw the state of the living room.

Clint wasn’t as out of it as he seemed because he immediately went over to take her arm and pull her the rest of the way into the room and close the door behind her.  He left her standing just in front of the door and moved to the window where he pulled a heavy black shade down to cover the glass. 

“Wanda, help me black out the windows.  There are shades on all of them, just fasten them down.”

She still looked shocked, but she went into the next room to cover the windows and the room darkened as the natural light was blotted out.  Tony glanced out the front window at the armor standing as a sentry outside the front door before drawing the shade.

He turned around and almost ran right into Steve for the second time. 

“Stop sneaking up on me! I’m trying to fight the urge to _not_ watch my back and you’re not helping!”

“You should listen to your instincts,” Steve said with an irritating, even tone.  “What’s your plan, Tony?”

“For what? World domination?  I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

“How about the next five minutes?”

“Let me say goodbye to Bruce, then I’ll leave and I won’t come back.”

The hard line between Steve’s eyes softened.  “No one said you couldn’t come back.”  His eyes dropped to Tony’s feet and he looked him up and down.  “You look like hell,” he said.

Tony had been trying hard not to think of the throbbing in his arm and his tender ribs and face, but it was impossible to erase the green and yellow bruises that still covered a lot of his visible skin.  He had to ditch the tactical vest to fit in the armor, and the thin black shirt underneath didn’t hide a lot.

Steve, of course, looked like he just stepped off an Abercrombie catalogue shoot, complete with perfectly-tousled beach hair from the cold Pacific water.

“Bruce is awake.  You might want to wash your face before you let him see you, though,” Steve finished.  He moved out of Tony’s way.

Tony took the out he was given and splashed his face with cold water among the broken plates in the kitchen before he went to the dim bedroom.   Natasha was gathering linens that had been scattered on the floor to fold them and put them back in a dresser.   Sam was sitting on the edge of the small bed where Bruce was sitting up mostly vertically with a stethoscope in his ears.  Sam pressed the resonator to his chest and let him listen to his own breathing.  A particularly deep breath ended in a harsh cough, and Bruce winced and pulled the earpieces away.

“Not so good?” Sam asked.  He rubbed Bruce’s back until he caught his breath enough to answer.

“Not so good, could be worse,” Bruce said.

“Antibiotics?”

Bruce shook his head.  “Save them.  They won’t work on me, and someone else is going to need them.” 

Sam looked like he wanted to argue, but Bruce let his head sink deeper into the pillows and closed his eyes.  He must have been exhausted, and Tony missed his chance.  He turned in the doorway to leave.

“Tony, where are you going?” Bruce called after him.

When Tony turned around to acknowledge the question, Sam rose from the bed and motioned for him to take his place.  Bruce’s eyes were open, but he wasn’t very alert.

“You’re so quiet, I wasn’t sure it was you,” Bruce said as he sank down on the bed.  He could feel the broken springs in the mattress, but it was a lot better than the floor.  “Why are you so quiet?”

“I might have run my mouth one too many times,” Tony said.  “I’ve already hurt you so much.  I don’t want to say anything to make it worse.”

Bruce looked lost.  “I don’t remember a lot right now.  I don’t know what you’re talking about.  I thought it was Ross who…” He looked away, thinking.  “Who caught me…I don’t remember where.”

Sam and Natasha were very quiet, but Tony couldn’t forget they were there, listening.  He glanced at them but they didn’t move, and Bruce was looking at him expectantly. 

Tony’s heart beat like it did before he had the surgery, too fast and hard for the space in his chest.  “I signed a deal with Ross—well, technically with the United States and 116 other countries.  The United Nations wants to monitor all enhanced beings, and I signed the fucking paper.”

He could see Bruce’s mind trying to wake up and fully absorb his short explanation. 

“Why were Clint and Sam and Wanda in prison with me?  What did they do?”

“Refuse to give up their ideals for the greater good.”

“Thanks a lot!” Sam snapped.

“’Greater good’ is a very relative term,” Bruce said.  “Was that the formal charge against me?  ‘For the greater good’?”

“Yeah, what _are_ the charges against us?” Sam asked.  “If I’m going to be a fugitive, I at least want to know what I’m running away from.”

Tony shrugged.  “I don’t think there were any formal charges drawn yet,” he admitted.  In a flash, he recalled his conversation with Ross about due process—and how quickly he’d been shot down.  “I don’t think they planned on charging you with anything.”

Bruce looked very tired.  “I think I’m beginning to see the big picture,” he said.  His eyes closed again.

Tony was going to reassure him that he wouldn’t let Ross get his hands on him again, no matter what piece of paper had his name on it.  But his watch buzzed urgently enough to cut him off and make him glance down.

Ross wanted to know what was taking him so long to get back to debrief.

Tony picked up Bruce’s hand from the side of the bed to wake him up and say goodbye.  Bruce’s hand was dry and hot in his.

“Your hands are cold,” Bruce said as he opened his eyes again.

“No, you’re burning up,” Tony replied.

“It’s the drugs.  I just have to sleep it off.”

“I have to go.  I’m putting you all in danger if I stay.”

“You’re putting yourself in danger, too,” Bruce said.  “Ross is going to come looking for us here.”

Tony smiled.  This, at least, he could reassure Bruce.  “No, I swept the place before you guys landed and showed him it was empty.  FRIDAY is controlling satellite images if he’s watching remotely.”

Bruce smiled, but it was sad and disbelieving. “He’s not going to believe you.  You’re a shitty liar.  You’re too used to the truth being on your side.  But you should go.  You have a lot more to lose than we do. Ross is going to freeze your assets as soon as you give him an excuse.”

Tony squeezed his hand and let go.  “I’m going to make sure he can’t hurt you again,” he said.

“I can see how your mouth is getting you in trouble,” Bruce said. “Just go.”

Dismissed.  Just like that.  And if Bruce’s tone wasn’t enough to send him on his way, Sam and Natasha’s glares chased him out the door.

Steve was waiting for him outside the bedroom door, but Tony barely glanced at him on his way out of the door.

“Tony!” Steve called and his long legs easily closed the distance between them.  “Tony!”

“I’m going!  I’m going back to Ross and I’m not going to see you again,” Tony put as much aggression as he could into growling the words so that he didn’t sound like the complaining little kid he felt like inside.

“Come back.  If you can, come back.  Don’t leave it like this.”

“Stay out of it, Rogers.  This isn’t team business anymore.”

“Look, if it was my best friend in there--” and _fuck Steve for bringing him up_ , “—and I might not see him for a long time, I wouldn’t want to leave it like that.”

“Fuck you, Steve.  You’re one to fucking talk.”

“Yeah, I am.  And I’m telling you it doesn’t have to be like this.  You can come back.”

“Clint—“

“Will get over it.  Laura and the kids are fine.  We moved them out before he left for Berlin.  He’ll be a lot more forgiving when he sees them again.”

Tony had his hand on the front doorknob and Steve didn’t try to block his way when he stumbled out the door this time.  The light was low on the horizon, but it was still a shocking difference from the dim interior of the house.

“Just take care of Bruce,” Tony said.

He waited for Steve’s terse nod before he let the armor envelop him and he blasted off into the darkening sky.


	6. Chapter 6

_Over upstate New York_

Tony flew high into the dark, new moon sky, so high that he was sure that no one could see him even if had been broad daylight.  When he reached an altitude where the trees became a swirling mass of fronds in the wind, he took a deep breath and triggered the emergency release on the suit.

The red and gold armor opened up, starting with his hands and feet and finally releasing his main mass and letting him free fall through the dark.  Tony closed his eyes because the rushing air made them tear up too much anyway.  After a heart-stopping second, he felt the stealth armor come up from beneath him to match his speed and enclose him.  The repuslors engaged effortlessly, far quieter than the noisy battle armor.

Even low over the treetops, the stealth suit cut a smooth path through the air, silent and invisible in the moonless night.  The red and gold Iron Man armor, under FRIDAY’s command, split from their formation and headed north, to the Avenger’s compound.

They were far enough from the city that he was sure no one would see the black armor, much less notice it change trajectory and turn west.

Going into the meeting with Secretary Ross, he knew Ross was going to chew him out, but he didn’t expect the meeting to take up his entire day.  He wasn’t dismissed until the sun was already setting, 24 hours after he’d left Barton’s.  A lot of that time was spent dissecting the security footage, telling him the same information over and over again. No, he didn’t know what went on inside the prison.  He’d been patrolling the sky in the Iron Man armor, waiting to catch them if they escaped the prison’s guards.  They took a boat, not a plane, which threw him off the scent for a while.  So, he went to the first place he could think they would hide, but that was clear, so he checked one of Natasha’s abandoned hideouts, too, then headed to Washington to be debriefed. 

He repeated that story more times than he could count during the debriefing.  More than enough to convince himself it was true.

Hours later, and he was staggering on his feet, but done with Ross’ questions and analysis and more questions.  Bruce was right.  The guy had genuine trust issues. 

Bruce was right.  He was right, that was all Tony could think.   Bruce had seen this all coming since he first boarded the helicarrier to help them find the Tesseract.   They had one good year in the Avengers Tower after that.  He got Bruce back into the lab, and they spent a lot of time as each other’s lab assistants, learning from each other in a way Tony hadn’t since he and Rhodey had been college kids making Dum-E together.    And then they had actually convinced Bruce to come out on missions and leave the jet every now and again. 

One bad mission.  That’s all it took for Wanda to destroy what they had been building for over a year.  Tony thought he wouldn’t ever be able to forgive her for what Bruce suffered after Wakanda.

He thought of Wanda, curled up on the foot of Bruce’s stretcher on the plane. Wanda and Bruce had found some kind of peace with each other.  Bruce would be in far worse shape if she hadn’t been there, and Wanda looked more sure of herself, maybe even proud that she’d found a way to manipulate her manipulators. 

But even if Bruce had accepted some form of apology, Tony would be shocked if he felt any differently about leaving the team than he did when he flew away on the quinjet.  He shook his head.  There wasn’t any team to leave any more.

The same thought patterns cycled endlessly through his mind as he flew over fields and towns, too far up for him to see anything but spidery patterns of streetlights and dark patchworks of grass.

****

_The Barton Homestead, Iowa_

The last of the sun had disappeared over the horizon long before Tony made radio contact with Steve’s team and told them he was coming in, so please do not shoot him or throw a rock, or trigger any booby traps.

“Roger?”

“No, this is Scott.”

Tony really wanted to bang his head into a wall.  “Ok, Scott.  Do you understand?”

“Yeah, don’t shoot the guy in the scary black armor.”

“Ok, put the radio down now.”

But as he banked to avoid a particularly study pine and come up over the clearing where the house stood, Hawkeye was crouched on the edge of the roof with his bow drawn.  He was dressed head to boots in black, and Tony wouldn’t have seen him without the HUD’s night vision.  He landed at the edge of the yard and kept his arms lowered and the repulsors pointed behind him.

“Take off the armor,” Hawkeye said firmly without lowering his bow.  “I want to see it’s really you.”

And disarm him, Tony thought.  But he could see both of Clint’s points.  He spread his arms, and the armor opened up and let him step out.

Clint lowered his bow.

“Is everyone else asleep?” Tony called up.  The farmhouse was completely dark and silent.

“No.  Go inside.”

“Why are you sleeping on the roof?”

“Keeping watch,” Clint answered in a clipped tone.  “I’d put you in rotation, but you look like you’re going to collapse on your feet.  Go inside,” he repeated.  He lifted his gaze to look out over Tony’s head into the night before he spoke again.  “Bruce is asking for you.”

Tony left the armor out of sight in the barn—still close enough to get to in a few seconds if he needed it, but far enough away that he didn’t pose a threat. 

The house was dim enough that no light showed through the blackout curtains.  A lot of the clutter on the floor had been either put back or swept away into boxes or unused corners.  The couches would need to be replaced, but most of the hardwood furniture survived the thrashing.  Wanda, Scott and Natasha were sitting on the couches playing a card game by the light of a reading lamp.  They looked up when Tony walked in the room, and Wanda shuffled her cards a little as if she was going to put them away, but Tony waved past them and straight into the back bedroom.

He paused to keep himself from barging into the room unannounced, and lightly rapped his knuckles on the doorframe. 

“Come in!” Sam’s voice called.  He was sitting next to Bruce’s bed, but when he looked up to see Tony standing in the doorway, he stood up.  He was defensive and wary, Tony could see it in his posture even if he silently offered Tony the chair and excused himself from the room.

The bedroom was the same as before, still the little bed with Bruce lying quietly, maybe dozing, maybe just ignoring everyone.   It was darker, though, with the only light coming from an orange nightlight by the bed.  Bruce looked different, though—better.  Someone had trimmed down his beard so that it was just heavy stubble, and his hair was washed and trimmed, and brushed so it was a mass of soft curls that all needed to be smoothed into place. 

But he was too pale, with bright spots of fever layered over the bruises on his face visible even in the low light.  His lips were chapped to the point of being raw, and his breathing wasn’t quite right, but that may have been because of the loose nasal cannula tangled around the pillow.

Tony sank down on the bed, and the bent springs jostled the bed enough to wake Bruce up. Tony was caught off-guard, but Bruce just stared at him for a few seconds, as if he was trying to remember his name.

“Here, Bruce, can I fix this for you?  I bet you’ll feel better,” Tony said as he untangled the thin tubes and replaced it under Bruce’s nose.  He tucked the loose edges around his ears and helped him settle back down.

“I keep pulling it off when I sleep,” Bruce admitted.  His eyes were shuttered and his voice was weak. “Why did you come back—“ the question was cut off by a coughing fit that left Bruce red in the face and gasping for breath.

“Have you been sleeping?” Tony asked hopefully.

“A little.  I slept for so long, it’s hard to sleep right now.”

“How about food?  Did you all eat?”

“I..think so.  I’m not very good at remembering right now.”

The off-hand comment made Tony freeze.  He and Bruce teased each other mercilessly about missing meals because they couldn’t be bothered to take a break from work for food.  Then hunger would drive them to eat everything in the kitchen a few hours later.  But Bruce wasn’t working or otherwise preoccupied  He should be able to remember if he had eaten that day at all.

“Ok,” Tony said. “Let’s see what kind of food is around here.”

He left the door to Bruce’s room open and headed to the kitchen.  The three card players still paid him no mind as he rummaged through the pantry and what was left of the fridge.  There was nothing except a bunch of boxes of macaroni and cheese.

“You guys are going to starve out here,” Tony mumbled.

Apparently, Natasha heard him.  “There are emergency rations on the jet that will last a few days.  Well for water.  Vegetables in the garden and peaches in the orchard, too.  Those we have to be careful about, though, because it will be easy to spot anyone out there.”

“Oh, I didn’t know that Clint was prepared for the siege of Iowa.”

“Then you really don’t know Clint.”

“How about something for Bruce, right now?”

Three sets of hands pointed to a covered pot on the stove.  “We keep trying to get him to eat, but he won’t.  Your turn,” Wanda said.  She looked up from her card game and looked him up and down.  “And you should eat, too.  You don’t look so good.”

Tony lifted the pot’s lid and his senses were flooded with the rich aroma of a tomato and basil bisque.  Yes, that would do quite nicely.

The bowls were all broken, so Tony just grabbed a couple of spoons out of the sink and headed back to the bedroom.  Bruce watched with mild interest as Tony set the small pot of soup on the edge of the bed and handed Bruce a spoon.

“Wanda said you don’t feel like eating?”

“I don’t feel well enough yet,” he replied.

“Well, Dr. Banner, you know the trick is that you’re not going to start feeling well until you’re eating well.”  Tony left the soup where it was for a second and ran the edge of his finger along Bruce’s jaw.  “Feeling well enough to shave?  That’s good!”

Bruce chuckled a little.  “Natasha made good on her promise to join me in the shower—sort of.  Does it still count if it was a bath, not a shower, and Natasha’s primary purpose was to make sure I didn’t drown?”

“Oh, that’s the bonus round.”

“Well, she did.  And then she helped me shave and cut my hair.”

“Did it make you feel better?”

“A lot.”

“Good, now try the soup,” Tony urged.

He was a bit surprised when Bruce did pull the pot closer and dip a spoon inside.  Bruce’s hand shook and little drops of soup splattered on the sheet, but he was determined to make it to his mouth without a major mishap.  He did it.  By the time he’d finished half the bowl, he was visibly exhausted, so Tony set it aside.  His eyes closed and his head fell back against the pillows.

Tony looked down at the half-finished soup.  His stomach growled, but he thought of the bare cupboard and the broken dishes and he didn’t touch it.

Bruce’s eyes were closed, but he wasn’t asleep.  Tony could tell by the way he was controlling his breathing, shallow but slow.  His eyes were used to the light now, and he could see where Bruce’s hair was damp with sweat at his temples and at the back of his neck.  Bruce didn’t open his eyes when Tony made the bed creak as he got up.  There was a bathroom adjoining the bedroom, and it was mostly straightened up.  Tony found a washcloth in a drawer and wet it under the tap.  The water was clear and cold, and Tony scooped some of it into his mouth.  It tasted clean, so at least Natasha was right about the well.

Bruce still didn’t open his eyes when Tony sat back down on the bed and pressed the cold cloth to the bruise on his face, but he sighed and relaxed a little.

“You’re really sick,” Tony said.  “Antibiotics might help a little.  They certainly wouldn’t hurt you any more.”

“Sam gave me amoxicillin.  I don’t think I’m sick.  I think it’s withdrawals from the sedatives.”

“Oh shit, Bruce.  We didn’t…I didn’t think of that.  I should’ve thought it through.  I’ve detoxed off bad drugs before.  I should’ve known better.”

Bruce opened his eyes to look at Tony.  “I bet that was a long time ago.  It’s ok.  I would much rather be here and feeling like shit than there, even if I wasn’t really aware most of the time.”

 “How are you feeling?”

“Headache.  Everything hurts.  I’m so tired, but I can’t sleep.  Lie down with me and talk.  Tell me anything.  I just want to hear your voice.”

Tony stretched out next to him, careful of the bandages that covered the blistered sores on his shoulder and hip and his own injuries.   Bruce tucked his head under Tony’s chin, and he could feel his eyelashes brush his neck as his eyes closed.

“Just talk to me,” Bruce said.

Bruce smelled like soap and sweat, and he was hot and heavy against his side. 

Tony sighed, to give himself a moment to think of where to start and to clear his throat a little.  Then he told Bruce everything, from the beginning, from when he drove away from the Avengers compound for the first time to when Ross walked in with the Sokovian Accords, and everything that came after.  He told him about Pepper, too, how he lost her and why he didn’t deserve to get her back.

He was rambling, he knew, not really placing things in chronological order, but that was alright because Bruce knew how to follow his train of thought and didn’t mind.  Tony was talking about how much he missed JARVIS—FRIDAY was great, but she was still so young sometimes—when he yawned and put his head down on the pillow and trailed off midsentence into sleep.

****

“Tony, wake up.”

Tony opened his eyes and blinked at the unfamiliar room around him.  Bruce was lying next to him, awake.  He looked like he hadn’t slept at all.

Steve stood next to the bed, looking down at both of them.  He had a paper plate in his hand and he held it out to Tony.  “Wake up, eat something, and we need to talk.”

His first instinct was to flip the plate right into Steve’s frown, but Bruce really didn’t need that right now.  And then his stomach growled loudly enough that refusing the food would just make him look like the irritable jerk he felt like.  He took the plate from Steve, who left the room and closed the door behind him.

The plate was heavy with scrambled eggs and potatoes.  Someone must have ventured to the vegetable patch overnight, though the eggs were a bit of a mystery.  Maybe the chickens had been hiding from him in the barn when he stashed the armor.

Bruce didn’t act too interested in the food, but there were two forks on the plate and Tony was pretty sure the fresh food was intended more for Bruce than for him.  After a little cajoling, he managed to get a few spoonfuls of eggs into him, and he picked at the potatoes a little to convince Tony that he had enough.

“I guess it’s time for a family meeting,” Tony said.

As if on cue, there was a knock on the door before it opened and Natasha stepped into the room.  “You guys awake enough to talk strategy?  Bruce, how are you feeling?  Think you’ll be okay alone for a few minutes?”

Bruce scoffed, though it lost a little effectiveness when it turned into a cough.  “What?” he wheezed.  “Stay in my room while the adults talk?  I think I need to be a part of this conversation, too.”

“Oh good, you’re feeling like your old self,” she said, but her voice was playful.  “Sure you may as well join in.  Adding Bruce Banner to the mix always calms things right down.”

Bruce smiled, his irritability fading as quickly as it came, and he looked okay for the first time since they pulled him out of that prison.  He had missed Natasha, he realized with a slight pang.  Tony missed her, too.

Natasha came up to the bed and reached over Tony to run her fingers though Bruce’s hair.  “I’ll get the Big Guy up and dressed, Tony, if you’ll set up the armchair in the living room for him.”

It took a few minutes for everyone else to assemble in the kitchen.  Tony dragged the armchair over to the kitchen table where Sam, Wanda and Scott were already sitting.  The kitchen was dim, too, though not as dark as the back bedroom, even though the morning sun was peaking around the edges of the curtains.  Tony took a chair across from the trio and tried to ignore how they pointedly did not look at him.

The bedroom door creaked open and Natasha appeared, supporting Bruce on his right side.  He was dressed in an old soft dark grey t-shirt and equally worn blue plaid pajama pants.  His face, though, was pinched with pain; he was already realizing that getting out bed was not a good idea.

By the time Bruce sank down into the armchair, Sam had already gone back to the bedroom for the oxygen tank, and they took a few minutes to make him comfortable.  He almost had his breath back when Steve came in through the kitchen door, looking vaguely concerned and with a radio in hand.

“Where’s Clint?” Natasha asked.

Steve set the heavy radio down on the table and turned it on.  “He won’t come off the roof.  This is a good as we’re going to get from him right now.”

“I can hear you just fine from here,” Clint’s voice came through the speakers.  “ _And_ I can watch for aircraft.”

“We’re not safe here,” Steve admitted. He looked at the rest of the gathered team. “We need to leave.  Soon.”

“Where can we go?” Wanda wondered aloud.  She looked scared, Tony thought, but she always looked like just a kid to him.  Of all of them, she had the most power, but the least resources.  The Avengers had been her entire family.

“Can’t go home,” Scott said.  “They know where we live.”

“There’s a place,” Natasha said.  “Outside of the U.S.  They’re offering us amnesty.  But not for Bruce.”

“So they’ll let Wanda in, but not Bruce?” Tony said.  “That seriously makes no sense.  The only times either of them have stepped out of line has been while they were on Avenger-sanctioned missions.  It’s not like they have random acts of road rage.”

“Sure it makes sense,” Bruce said.  “I understand.  I destroyed a major metropolitan area, unprovoked.”

“That wasn’t you, Bruce,” Tony said.  He pointed to Wanda.  “That was _her_ messing with your head.  It wasn’t your fault.”

“It doesn’t matter, Tony.  I still did it,” Bruce said softly.

And holy shit, Tony felt like the universe dropped a Chevy on his head.  “It does matter, Bruce.  It matters so much.  You were just trying to help.  Hell, _we_ forced you into it just as much as Wanda did. You never liked Code Greens, and you felt like shit every time, but you still did it for us.”

He was so focused on Bruce that he didn’t notice how silent the others had gone until the only thing he could hear was his own harsh breathing.  He looked up and saw Steve’s face, as white as a sheet.  He looked like he was having a heart attack.

“Do you even fucking hear yourself,” Steve said in a low, dangerous voice.  He pushed himself up from the table and was out the back door before anyone could react.


	7. Chapter 7

_The Barton Homestead, Iowa_

Everyone watched the kitchen door slam back on its hinges in stunned silence.  It was Natasha who slowly took the radio from the center of the table.

“Hawkeye, do you have eyes on him?”

“Yeah, he’s right here.”

“I’m fine,” Steve’s voice came over Clint’s comm.  “The meeting is not over.  I’m just gonna punch his jerk face next time I see it, so…”

“Okay, Steve is about to go full Brooklyn, so I’ll just set this to receive unless we have something to say.  Carry on.”

Natasha set the radio back down and shrugged in Tony’s direction.  “I could stay with you, find some place to give Bruce a chance at a new life.  And everyone else could go on like we planned.”

“We are much stronger when we are all together,” Wanda said.

Natasha smiled.  “I can take care of myself.”

“I’m worried about the rest of _us_ ,” Sam said. 

She conceded with a quirked eyebrow.

“I don’t want to be split up,” Wanda said.

“I don’t want to split anyone up,” Bruce said.

Tony gnawed on his lip as he thought.  He was trying to the think of the most level-headed, kindest person he knew.  Someone he could trust Bruce with—or at least enlist their help—but it would have to be someone who _could_ help.  Someone with power and influence, but who would see Bruce as a person, and not a thing to be used for their own gain.

“Thor,” Tony said, thinking out loud. “What if we can get Thor to take you to Asgard?”

The table went quiet again, and everyone looked at Bruce.

“Asgard?” he said.  “I don’t even know if that’s allowed.  The world is a big place.  There’s bound to be somewhere I can go and disappear.  I’ve done it before.”

“Bruce, the world is different now,” Tony said.  “It changed while you were locked away.  That prison didn’t spring up as soon as the ink dried on the Accords.  Someone had to plan for that and build it at least while the Accords were being drafted, and maybe even before then.  It was fully functional and ready.  And that wasn’t the only thing.

“As soon as he left after giving me the first copy, I had FRIDAY look into Secretary Ross’s plans, and you wouldn’t believe what I saw.  I don’t believe what I saw.  He took the schematics A.I.M. had on War Machine when they did the Iron Patriot upgrades and he made drones.”

“Like the ones FRIDAY flies?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, but those are peacekeepers.  Cops.  These are specifically designed and programmed to kill each of us, and anyone else they have their eyes on.   He called them ‘Sentinels.’”

“That is some Skynet level bullshit,” Sam said.

“Oh, no, you haven’t heard the best part yet.  They still have Zorim’s Algorithm.  It’s just sitting around right now, but it’s well-written code and easy to manipulate.  It wouldn’t be hard to track any of us because they could predict our future movements. And that would be the perfect program to load into a tireless terminator robot.”

“They didn’t learn anything from Ultron?” Bruce said sadly.

“Uh, yeah, they learned a lot.  Mostly how cool a murder bot would be if it just didn’t have that pesky will of its own.  A Sentinel is just a machine with a mission.  And they could release hundreds,” Tony said.  “But—they were Plan B.  _We_ were Plan A.  Plan Avengers.  And if no one signed, then they were going to go with creating the Sentinels because the world is asking them to do _something_ to make them feel safe, and it was the only other plan on the table.”

“Safe from me,” Bruce huffed.

“And me,” Wanda said.

“And Vision,” Tony said.  “And terrorists, natural disasters, inter-dimensional aliens, and now the fucking Zika virus, too.  There’s always going to be something to be afraid of.  So, now instead of being part of the solution, we’re the problem.”

The radio on the table crackled to life.  “Uh, Steve’s going back in, so if there’s a fight, someone better have their camera out right now.”

The back door creaked open again, and Steve paused to survey the scene before coming all the way into the room.  Everything was where he’d left it, and Tony tried very hard not to stare at him too hard or to bristle under the weight of those blue eyes, so Steve relaxed a bit and sat down at the other end of the table. 

“What else did you see in Secretary Ross’s files?” Steve asked.  His voice was soft, but forced, as if he was actively trying to smooth down the hard edges.

“Plans for the Raft, which I didn’t think much of because I gave them to Rhodey and they probably got sucked into the chain of command.  But there were plans for two more prisons that are currently being built overseas.  Lists of project names I couldn’t decipher. There were instructions on how best to kill each of us, in the case that we had gone rogue.  Lists of possible other ‘enhanced’ individuals.”

“What did mine say?” Bruce asked, and his honest innocence tickled Natasha’s black heart so much that she laughed.

“I didn’t _read_ them!” Tony said.  “Come on, you have to think higher than me of that.”

“You didn’t back up copies, did you?” Bruce asked.

“I didn’t back up copies.  But I know what their purpose is.”

“So,” Wanda said, “If we did not sign the Accords, then we are now being hunted? Possibly, in the future, by giant scary robots?”

Tony sighed.  “Wanda,” he looked over to his side, “Bruce, you know you two are different.  The laws are going to affect you differently.  Vision, too, and Thor if he ever decides to stay for more than a week.  You guys can’t just hang up your costume and go be good soccer parents.  You can’t retire.  But that means that people are going to hunt you for your entire lives, regardless of the Accords.  If you signed up, we could protect you from those people.”

“From Ross?” Bruce spat out.  “From your boss, when you are legally required to hand me over to him, no questions asked.

“If you were a U.N. sanctioned member of our team, I think we’d have pretty good cause to go knock the place down and get you out,” Tony replied.

“And how long would the U.N. take to decide that we had good cause?  Or what if they told us to cut our losses and go home?” Steve said.

Bruce sagged in the armchair.  He was shaking a little, tired and cold.  He needed to get back into bed and sleep.  They still hadn’t decided on where to go from here—that conversation was going around in circles anyway. 

“You know that’s the best thing to do right now, Steve,” Bruce said.  “You should get to whatever safety you have before your opportunity is lost.  Lie low, keep quiet and see what happens.”

“And you?” Steve said.  He crossed his arms over the blue Henley stretched tight across his chest, obviously displeased.

“Drop me off somewhere quiet.  I’ll figure something out,” Bruce said with a faint shrug.

Natasha looked away, and Tony wondered if she felt rejected again, or if she knew that Bruce was just being a self-sacrificing ass.

“No,” Tony and Steve said at the same time.

Steve didn’t look at Tony, but his jaw jut out at an angle that said he was biting his tongue.  But any reply Tony might have had was cut off by Clint’s crackly voice over the radio.

“Guys, we have birds coming in from the west.”

“Can you see them?” Natasha said.  She made eye contact with Steve across the table and he was on his feet and out the door, presumably up to the roof.

“Negative.  But the proximity sensors went off and judging by their size, they’re slow, but they’ve got quite a payload—Oh, yeah, I can see them now.  Helicopters with guns.”

“And missiles,” Tony added.

“Did you know about this, Stark?” Natasha snapped.

“No!  I’m just saying they _probably_ have missiles, too!”

“Fine, follow me,” Natasha said as she stood, then pushed the kitchen table upright against the back door.

“What about Steve and Clint?” Bruce asked.

“This is Clint’s house,” Wanda reminded him as she tried to pull him to his feet.  Bruce was clumsy and too heavy for her to carry, but Sam ducked under his other arm and grabbed the oxygen tank with his spare hand.

“Scott! Get up on the roof and tell Clint to hurry up,” Natasha ordered.  “Tony, what are you going to do about your armor?  They’re going to see it if you fly out of here in it.  And they’ll see _you_ if it’s left behind.”

Tony froze.  He could get out of here in the armor before anyone saw him, but he couldn’t stay to fight.  He looked at Natasha’s face and saw his real choice.  He could be the one to switch sides.  Give up everything he built.  But he could build it again—better this time with Bruce to help him.  It didn’t have to be the end.  It could be a new beginning.

“Incoming!” the tinny voice on the radio shrieked. 

Tony’s thoughts went white in fear for a second as the house shook, but it stood.  The missile must have missed—or been deflected somehow and missed the house.  But the explosion shook everyone into action. 

“They won’t see me,” Tony reassured Natasha.  “They won’t.  Get in the air, and I’ll find you a place to land.”

Natasha looked grim, but she nodded anyway and grabbed Tony’s hand.  “We’re not going to leave Bruce alone, Tony,” she said.

She shoved Tony towards the kitchen door and kicked up the rug that had been under the table.  There, of course, was a trap door.  The door creaked open as Natasha heaved it open and a draft of cool cellar air that smelled like damp earth wafted through the room.

“Everyone in.  There’s a door at the end that opens up onto the tunnel.  Go,” Natasha said. She held the door up as Wanda led the way with one hand glowing faintly red in front of her and her other hand firmly in Bruce’s.  Sam followed with the duffle bag of medical supplies slung over his shoulder and the oxygen tank in his hand, but he waited for Natasha on the stairs.

Tony took the weight of the trap door from Natasha’s hands so she could go through.  “Here.  Go.  I’ll put it back in case they search the place,” he said.

“Searching for evidence with an airstrike is a bit of an overkill, even for Ross, but suit yourself,” Natasha said.

A flash of red hair in the last beam of light and then she was gone.  Tony lowered the door and pulled the rug back over it.  Natasha was right.  They had probably found the trap door when they first searched the place anyway.  It wasn’t exactly a secret.

The blast outside had knocked the kitchen table a little away from the door, so Tony pulled it the rest of the way down.  It was the shortest way out of the house and to the barn.  He pulled the door open, but as soon as he did, he heard helicopters approaching fast, and the terrain made it hard to tell which direction they were coming from. He ducked low and peered out of the crack of the door, but he couldn’t see anything.  Trusting his luck, he opened the door and ducked into the vegetable patch.  There was a straight shot to the barn from here, but it was a lot of open land and he could hear the helicopters closing in.

“What kind of varmint do I have in my corn now?” Clint’s voice shouted down from the roof.

Tony stood up.  “I need to get my armor and get the fuck out of here if I’m going to be able to help you guys.”

He really expected Clint to tell him to fuck off because they didn’t need his help, but he just stayed silent as he looked over his shoulder, towards the other horizon.

“They’re coming in fast and it’s broad daylight.  You’re gonna need a diversion,” Clint said.

“Got one in mind?”

Clint reached down and held up a propane tank that had been out of sight on the roof.  It was one of those little ones for barbeques.  “Got about a half dozen up here, but you’re going to need for them to get closer, so get ready to get out fast.”

“You’re going to blow them up!” Tony said.

Steve’s face appeared over the edge of the roof.  “No, just let them get close enough to know we can,” Steve said.

Then, he too, looked over his shoulder into the horizon.

“Go, Tony,” he said.

Tony sprinted to the barn, and he was already breathing hard when he finished the short distance, but at least he didn’t hear any explosions in the background yet.  His hammering heart started to slow as soon as the armor’s cold metal enclosed him and his vision was awash in LED schematics.

A few tense seconds passed before the pressure blast of an explosion rocked the barn.  FRIDAY’s IR sensors registered the propane fire a few hundred yards away, in the air.  No aircraft downed, she reported.  There was a second explosion, and then Tony knew it was time to go.

He engaged the thrusters and flew out the back of the barn, towards the tree line where the nimble stealth suit could stay out of radar range.  Another propane tank exploded somewhere behind him, and he dared to look back.

Steve was standing on the farmhouse roof with a propane tank in his hand.  He lobbed it into the air, and a second later, an arrow zipped after it and it exploded in mid air.  The fireball dripped black smoke through the sky as they fell, and soon the air was so smoky that he could barely Steve on the roof.  Scott was up there somewhere, too, though he probably wouldn’t have seen the tiny guy anyway.

“They are creating a smoke screen,” FRIDAY said into his ear.

 “Thank you for the obvious, FRIDAY.”  But her voice still got him moving again, flying blind through a cloud of smoke, then low through the trees until he was sure that no one would see him pop out of the tree line and shoot up into the atmosphere where he didn’t have to worry about anything other than passenger jets. 

Looking back, he was too far and too high to see the fire at the farm, or to see if Clint and Steve and Scott were still on the roof, or if the farmhouse was even still standing…

A warning light went off in the corner of the HUD.  “Boss, you seem in distress,” FRIDAY’s ever-cheerful voice did not sound amused as she forced diagrams of his blood pressure and respiration rate into his field of view.

“I’m fine,” he snapped.  But he did have to take a slow, deep breaths to prepare for what he was about to say.  “FRIDAY, get King T’Challa on the line.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

_The South China Sea_

The sea below was as blue and calm as the cloudless skies above as Tony trailed the quinjet, barely a glint of sunlight on his horizon.  He was far enough behind that he could warn them and split off if they were being tailed, but it had been smooth flying since he rejoined them off the coast of Malibu and entered international waters.  Radio contact was minimal, but they all had the coordinates to the rendezvous point in case anyone was separated.

And he suspected they were staying off the radio becuase the last time he asked, they said Bruce wasn’t doing very well.  That had been four hours ago and he hadn’t received an update since.

Soon, a grey dot where the sea met the sky grew into the green and white hull of the Wakandan medical research ship.  He circled above as he watched the quinjet land on the deck’s helipad.

“W.R.V. Ikamva, this is Iron Man inbound for landing,” he said into the radio.

There was a slight pause before the response came.  “Iron Man, you are cleared for landing.”  The radio cut out again.

As he approached the helipad, he could see King T’Challa standing on the deck, flanked by two tall women with poise to rival Pepper, dressed in similar sleek dress suits.  The king watched impassively as the quinjet’s loading door lowered and Steve stepped down alone.

Tony came up just above the jet and descended the last few feet slowly to the deck, far enough from Steve to be out of his reach.  The faceplate and helmet retracted and he could smell the kerosene fumes that wafted from Steve’s blue jacket.  His face had been scrubbed clean, but Tony could see the dirt in the creases of his fingers as he reached out to shake the king’s hand.

“King T’Challa, thank you for your hospitality.  We had nowhere else to go,” Steve said.

“Your Highness, anything I can do in thanks for harboring us,” Tony said.  He retracted his gauntlet to shake hands and noticed that his weren’t any cleaner.  The king didn’t seem to mind.

“It must be dire circumstances for you both to be here, and it must be dire for Wakanda to skirt the laws we just swore to support,” T’Challa said with a touch of a smile at the corner of his lips.  “But I understand that there are members of your party who need medical attention, and you all are in need of rest.  That, at least, Wakanda can provide.”

He turned to the woman on his left and nodded.  She approached Steve.

“Captain Rogers,” she said in a soft mix of British and Xhosa accents, “if you would lead the way I’ll clear the ship for the medical crew.”

Steve frowned a little and didn’t move.  “Of course, but if possible, can we keep strangers to a minimum around Bruce?  He was confused on the flight over, and he’s been held captive for a while now.”

Even T’Challa’s usually inscrutable face looked concerned and Tony could hear the alarm in his own voice when he asked, “Is he okay?”

“Wanda and Natasha are keeping him calm,” Steve said.  “He’s just really scared.”

“Of course,” T’Challa reassured.  “Maybe a familiar face will help.”

Tony was about to race up the gangplank, but then a door behind T’Challa opened and Helen Cho walked onto the deck, her white coat flapping in the breeze and the Wakandan medical crew trailing her.  Her face broke into a wide smile as she saw Tony and Steve, and T’Challa stepped aside to let her pass.  She ran into Steve’s arms first and hugged him tight before turning to Tony, still in his armor.  He retracted the rest of the armor and left it standing inert as he hugged Helen.  She felt small and strong in his arms and he suddenly missed Pepper very much.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“King T’Challa sent a jet to my laboratory.  He said Bruce needed someone who understood his unique biology.  Is he inside?” she said as she indicated the quinjet.

Steve disappeared with her back into the jet, and Tony went to follow.

“Mr. Stark,” the king called him back.  “Secretary Ross has his eye on you.”

“Don’t you worry that flying Dr. Cho in from Seoul puts you in his sights, too.”

“No,” T’Challa said, amused.  “He has little power over Wakanda.  We are treating a prisoner and giving him the medical care he needs.  You are aiding fugitives.”

“Or bringing in captives,” Tony said.  “It’s not my fault if they don’t stay captive for long.”

“I suppose it depends on your point of view,” T’Challa said.

****

The ship had a series of self-contained medical pods below deck, designed for studying infectious disease in isolation and easily transporting critical patients.  The crane on deck could move the entire pod onto a truck or a plane, hardly disturbing the patient inside.

Bruce was in the largest pod, with enough room for four beds, but two of the beds had been cleared out to make room for Cho’s portable tissue regenerator.

“He let us take pictures and scans of his injuries before the procedure,” Helen was saying to him as he stared through the window.  “Those pressure wounds were a lot worse than they appeared on the surface.  It was good that you got him help when you did, though if he transformed, he would probably be fine.”

“That’s what I told him.”

“He won’t let himself do it, though,” she sighed.  “And that’s just the physical trauma.  His short term memory is definitely affected—maybe from the drugs, maybe because of physical damage—“

“Probably both,” Tony said.  Helen nodded in agreement.  “What about the drug withdrawals?”

“He’s sleeping now because we pumped him full of diazepam.”  She smiled and relaxed a little, and Tony laughed out of nerves.

“Ideally, we’ll taper him off,” she continued.  “But that requires some long-term planning and his future isn’t exactly secure right now.”

Tony turned to look at Helen.  She looked alert, not like she had just conducted a six-hour surgery, though she would argue that her cradle did all the hard work.  “How did T’Challa know where to find you?”

She smiled.  “He called me on the phone, Tony.  Like a normal person.  And offered me an immediate position on an elite Wakandan medical research ship.  It’s a very prestigious invitation.”

Tony smiled back.  “Of course it is.  Thank you for coming.”

“It’s for Bruce. He doesn’t deserve to be treated like that.  No one does.  Now, he’s going to wake up without you if you don’t get in there,” she said.  “But when he does, don’t worry if he’s confused.  Just answer his questions.”

Tony grimaced.  “There usually aren’t answers to the type of questions Bruce asks.”

Helen laughed.  “I’ll tell him you said that.”

She didn’t follow him inside the pod, and the door sealed shut behind him.  He took a deep breath and his lungs filled with oxygen-rich air.  Maybe that was why Helen looked so alert.  The extra oxygen certainly made him feel more awake.

Bruce was on his back, propped up in bed with the white sheets draped loosely over him, pulled up to his shoulders.  He looked a lot better than the last time Tony had seen him in the dim farmhouse.  His color was more natural, though it was obvious he hadn’t seen the sun in months.  The overhead lights were ultraviolet lamps that mimicked sunlight, which probably helped, and the humidity in the room was closely controlled, and someone had rubbed balm on his chapped lips, so they looked less red and cracked than before.

There was a metal chair beside the bed, and it scraped a bit against the floor as Tony sat down.  That small sound was enough to wake Bruce and he was suddenly staring at Tony with bright brown eyes.

“Tony?”

“Yeah, Bruce? I’m here.”

His eyes searched the room for a familiar sign, and he turned to Tony when he didn’t find any.  “Is everyone ok?  Where are we?”

“Yeah, everyone’s safe.  You’re the only one seriously hurt.  We’re on a Wakandan medical ship.”

Bruce looked around the room again and his eyebrows drew together.  “Wakandan?  Was there a Code Green?”

“No.  You were held prisoner with Wanda, Clint, and Sam and—what’s his name—Scott, and they hurt you.  Steve came to get you.  Helen patched you up.”

“I don’t remember much.  You and Steve were fighting,” he said with some certainty.

“We’re always fighting,” Tony said.  “Good guess.”

Bruce smiled, but it faded as he reached up to rub his eyes. He got distracted as he noticed the IV taped to his hand.  “What am I drugged with?”

“Valium, mostly, I think.”

“Oh,” he said, but he didn’t seem very concerned.  “Is everyone ok?”

“Yeah,” Tony said again.  “Everyone else is on board, sleeping probably.”

Bruce closed his eyes again.  “Oh,” he said faintly.

“How are you feeling?” Tony asked when he was quiet for a moment, questions satisfied for now.

“A lot better.  I didn’t know how much I was hurting until it stopped.  Dizzy, now, and tired.”

“You can sleep if you want.  Let your body heal as much as possible.”

Bruce didn’t answer, and he was asleep a few minutes later.  Tony found the dimmer for the overhead lights and turned them down but not all the way off so the guards outside didn’t think anything too suspicious, and Bruce wasn’t too disoriented when he woke up.  He dozed for a few hours before the door opened and the change in air pressure made him jerk awake.  It was Helen.  She checked Bruce’s blood pressure and temperature, and roused him enough to do a cognitive check, which he failed pretty spectacularly.  No, he didn’t know what day it was, or where he was, and when Helen asked him who the president was, he paused for a second before asking which country.

Helen shrugged.  “Okay, I’ll give you that one,” she said, then she patiently explained again that he was hurt and drugged and he needed to rest, and his memory would probably get better when he woke up a little more. 

She was checking on the monitors Bruce was connected to when the door opened again and Clint and Natasha came into the room, keeping quiet even though they both were dragging their feet in exhaustion.  Clint had an armful of cold bottles of water, and he handed one to Tony as he passed.

Natasha leaned over Tony to kiss Bruce on the cheek before taking a seat at the foot of Bruce’s bed. 

“Are you guys okay?” Bruce asked.

“We’re fine,” Clint said. “How are you feeling? It itches, doesn’t it?”  He cracked a bottle of water open and handed it to Bruce, who took it in a shaky grip.

Bruce grinned.  “Yeah, but it’s not too bad.  Just feels…odd.”  He sipped from the water, and Clint took it from his hand to set it on the bedside table when he was done.

“The plasticky feeling goes away, too, after a while,” Clint said.

“The biomatrix dissolves as tissue grows over it,” Bruce said.

“Well, your long term memory seems just fine,” Helen observed.

Bruce turned his head to look at her and he seemed to suddenly realize how many people were in the small room.  He shrank a little to try to make himself smaller, and the tension was visible in the lines and shadows around his eyes.  Natasha noticed, too, and she leaned over him on the bed to pull the sheets up to his chin and tuck the loose ends firmly under the mattress.  The pressure seemed to help him feel secure, and Natasha stretched out to lie down beside him and drape her arm across his waist. 

Tony was close enough to hear her ask, “Am I hurting you?”

“Not yet,” Bruce answered, which made Natasha smile.

Natasha was exhausted, Tony could see now that she was laying down with her face turned into Bruce’s pillow.  Clint was dead on his feet, too.  He turned the chair around so he could straddle it with his chin resting on the back and his eyes were closed a second later. 

Tony yawned.  He hadn’t slept since Iowa, and he was sure that most of the people in the room had been awake for even longer.  The room was dim, perfectly temperature controlled, and peacefully sealed away from the rest of the world.  The boat swayed and rocked beneath his feet, but the sea was calm and it reminded him of the sound of the waves on the Malibu cliffs.

A hand on his shoulder made his eyes jerk open—when had he closed them?

“You’re swaying on your feet,” Helen said.  It was her firm hand on his arm.  “There are plenty of beds to go around here.  Lie down before you fall down.”

She pushed him over to the bed on the opposite side of the room and pulled back the top blanket for him.  He sat down heavily and toed off his leather loafers and kicked them under the bed before stretching out.  The bed was narrow, but it gave wonderfully under the ache that reached across his back and down his arm.  He had to stifle a groan.

Clint got up and stretched before reaching his hand out for Natasha.

“Come on, Nat, let’s go find our own beds.”

Natasha crawled cat-like off the bed, and she let the reluctance on her face show.  She straightened the sheets around Bruce and tucked them in again before she let Helen lead her and Clint to a spare room.

The room was even quieter with just the sound of two people breathing.  Tony turned on his side so he could see if Bruce woke up, or if he needed anything.  But Bruce was sound asleep, weeks of exhaustion catching up as soon as he would let it.

“Bruce,” Tony said into the silence, “I wish I could tell you I’m sorry, but I don’t think you’d believe me.”

He was taken aback when Bruce answered, “I believe you.  But it’s not your fault.”

“Oh fuck, I thought you were asleep.”

Bruce opened his eyes and turned his head to look at Tony.  “I should be.  You too.”

The expanse of air between them was too much.  His shoulder hurt, and his head ached, and it had been a long time since he’d felt someone sleeping beside him.  Tony flipped the blanket back and dragged it over to Bruce’s side of the room.  Bruce watched him with bruised eyes and the hint of a smile on his lips.

“Can I?”

“Yeah,” Bruce said.  He tried to shuffle over, but he was still weak.

“No, don’t move.  You’re fine where you are.”

Tony climbed up the bed the same way Natasha had and wedged himself between Bruce and the wall, lying on his good shoulder.  He let Bruce feel a breath of relief against his neck.

“Did Helen look at your arm?” Bruce asked.

“No, but it’s fine.  Dislocated, relocated, dislocated again.  It’s fine.”

Bruce winced.  But then he wiggled out of the blanket a little so he could grab Tony’s hand and bring it to his shoulder.  “Can you feel the difference?”

Tony let his fingers trace the line of Bruce’s shoulder, marveling at how soft and delicate the skin there was. He ran his fingertips from the point of his shoulder up his collarbone and around his neck, so lightly that it made him shudder.  Then, back down, around a little to his back. 

He could feel it, slightly hotter and more tender than the surrounding muscle.  It was an area about the size of his palm, though from what Helen said, the wounds went deep.  He would have had months of healing ahead if it hadn’t been for Helen.

“I can.  Does it hurt?”

“It’s a little sore.  It’ll go away with the swelling.”

“Which is why you should be sleeping.”

Bruce let the corners of his mouth quirk up in a tired smile.  “When’s the last time you slept?”

“When you did.”

He huffed as if he had won an argument, but then he turned his head so that it was resting against Tony’s chest and closed his eyes.  Tony wasn’t going to be fooled by his sleeping act again, but it was hard to tell when he truly fell asleep.  His breathing grew less controlled, a little deeper, and this close he could hear that he was still congested.  He still had a low-grade fever, too, though it was much better than when he had arrived.

Tony lay awake for a long time, listening to Bruce sleep and every now and again pressing his face into Bruce’s curls.  He let himself drift, thinking about everything and nothing all at once.  But sleep was elusive.

He knew that hours had passed when Helen returned to check on them again.

“Don’t wake him if he’s asleep,” Tony warned.  “He hasn’t been sleeping long.”

Helen raised an eyebrow.  “And, you?”

Tony shook his head.

“I could help you with that.”

“No, thanks.  I expect Ross to be on my ass any minute now, and I don’t want to deal with him while I’m doped up.  I might put him on speakerphone instead of hold.”

Helen put her finger to her lips, but she was smiling at the joke.

“Someone told me once,” she said, “that thinking of something you really want will help you fall asleep.”

Tony snorted.  “I really want Ross to leave me the fuck alone.”

Helen’s smile widened.  “Wish granted, for the moment.  King T’Challa said he was here to take care of any…diplomacy issues.  No one is going to bother you here.”

Tony _was_ exhausted because he felt equal parts tears and giddy laughter trying to bubble out of him, and he squashed both down with a sigh of relief.  Helen turned her back for a second to retrieve the pillow from the other bed, and Tony smeared away the tears with the back of his hand.

“Here,” she said, offering the pillow to Tony.  He took it and squashed it under his head.  “Don’t wake Bruce—and try to think of something else.”

As Helen left, she turned the lights down to their lowest setting.  Bruce moved, just a little, and Tony held his breath, but he didn’t wake up at all.  The room was quiet again, and Tony was restless.

He wanted things to be how they used to be, he thought.

He wanted Rhodey and Pepper back.

And JARVIS.

And Steve to be his friend again.  He wanted Sam to get his wings back, and Wanda to get her brother back.  He wanted Clint to have his perfect little farm house with his perfect little family, and Natasha to find whatever she was looking for.

He wanted to travel back in time and tell himself to go after Bruce harder, to just tell the dolt exactly how he felt about him.  Maybe then he wouldn’t have ruined his relationship with Pepper, and she would still be there, by his side where she belonged and not in bed with his nightmares. 

Fuck.  His eyes and nose burned as tears spilled down his cheeks.  He didn’t stop them, but he was careful to keep his breathing steady so that Bruce would sleep though it.  Every doubt he had threatened to swirl together and overwhelm him, but he could push it back, concentrate on the feeling of Bruce’s skin under his hands and the smell of his hair, and remind himself that he was okay, Bruce was okay, everyone was fine.

Except Rhodey.

And a new wave of tears flooded over him. 

Eventually, he cried himself out in the strong, silent way he used to when he came back from boarding school to an empty house.  No one would care because no one saw, not even Jarvis.

The emotional release tired him out in a way that the physical and mental stress hadn’t.  But the last thought he had before drifting off to sleep was very simple.

He wanted to protect his family.


End file.
